Without the Darkness There Is No Light
by Riley Berg
Summary: I am a woman of mystery. Even Brother knows me little. But learning about me is NOT good, not HEALTHY. This alliance between me, the Avengers & Loki will be eventful, I am sure, but maybe necessary.-Join Astrid as she fights, befriends, falls in love, and takes her place in the universe. [Loki, Jane, Vision, Wanda; Loki x OFC, canon pairings] WANT BETA &/OR HELP W. SUMMARY
1. Author's Note

"_A book?"_

"_That's right. When I was your age, television was called books. And this is a special book. It was the book my father used to read to me when I was sick, and I used to read it to your father. And today I'm gonna read it to you."_

"_Has it got any sports in it?"_

"_Are you kidding? Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles…"_

"_Doesn't sound too bad. I'll try to stay awake."_

"I don't remember any giants," Tony points out, his perpetually amused smile in place.

"Well, unlike _you_ Tony, the other guys _are_ kinda tall."

"I don't remember any torture," Steve adds, trying, diplomatically, to steer the subject from Tony's unimpressive height.

Loki smiles mysteriously. Not even _I_ am sure if it is in reaction to 'torture' or some thought about Tony's height. And _I'm _the author! Loki was never one to be cooperative, though.

"There is a bit of torture. Just not in the usual sense," I defend.

"Like having to be near _them_," Loki finally speaks, his tone dripping with disdain as he gestures to his companions unenthusiatically.

"That's not what I was talking about," I reply in exasperation.

"I want to know where the true love comes in," Vision interrupts, though by the look on his face I think he already has an answer in mind.

"Push me and I _will _pair you with Wanda."

"How unoriginal."

I glare at Loki. "Thus the _threat_."

Silence reigns for a moment before I turn to the still-silent Thor and Natasha.

"Well, are you two going to say anything?"

Natasha shakes her head in a barely detectable gesture. How very Natasha of her.

Thor looks uncertain. "Hi?"

Jane steps from the doorway. "What do you mean: where does the true love come in? There'sTony and Pepper, and… and… Thor and I…" she stops, realizing her list isn't very long after all, and looks to me for help.

I shrug. "You'll have to wait and see."

"I hate waiting," Astrid quotes with a grin.

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**Full Summary**

Astrid Quimby is a woman of great mystery. Even the man who claims to be her brother seems to know little about her. When a man comes to Earth searching for something, her brother and her new friends will learn more about her. But not every one of them is sure that's a good thing.

Join Astrid as she forms unlikely alliances with both the Avengers and Loki, and tries to keep them from killing each other—or, at least, trashing her place in their attempt. Follow her as she finds herself fighting for something she thought she never wanted to fight for, and falling for someone she never wanted to fall for.

[An _Avengers_ / _Thor_ fanfiction. Featuring Loki, Thor, Jane, Vision, Wanda. MCU canon pairings and eventual Loki x OFC. (Mostly?) MCU canon background, but not a retelling of any of the movies. Timeline reference: the story begins a few months before and then returns just before, during, and after the events of _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ (but, again, not following the movie, but what is going on elsewhere).]

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**Disclaimer**

THIS APPLIES TO THE ENTIRE WORK! I do not own any characters or concepts borrowed from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the original Marvel comics, Norse Mythology (though that _is_ public domain) or any other recognizable content, including other brands, books, and movies that may be referenced, whether obviously or cleverly (if you consider me clever). All credit goes to their respective creators and owners. This _is_ a fanfiction, after all. That's how it works. I do not make any profit from this work. It is for my enjoyment and yours. I do own my O.C.s (original characters), plot, original concepts, etc. Please respect that.

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**Note on the Text: Italics, Underlining, and Dialogue**

When dialogue is italicized it indicates the speaker is not using English or the All-Tongue (both of which are written with normally styled text). When emphasis is used while someone is speaking a foreign tongue (and the words are therefore already italicized), I use underlining rather than non-italics, as I think it is more noticeable.

When single quotation marks ( '…') are used, it indicates speaking or hearing in the mind (telepathically), rather than words spoken aloud, which are indicated by the standard double quotation marks ( "…"). As usual, a quote within a quote will use the opposite type of quotation (for example, "He said 'I love you'" or 'He said "I love you"').


	2. Prologue: Plans Change

"_A book?"_

"_That's right. When I was your age, television was called books. And this is a special book. It was the book my father used to read to me when I was sick, and I used to read it to your father. And today I'm gonna read it to you."_

"_Has it got any sports in it?"_

"_Are you kidding? Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles…"_

"_Doesn't sound too bad. I'll try to stay awake."_

"I don't remember any giants," Tony points out, his perpetually amused smile in place.

"Well, unlike _you_ Tony, the other guys _are_ kinda tall."

"I don't remember any torture," Steve adds, trying, diplomatically, to steer the subject from Tony's unimpressive height.

Loki smiles mysteriously. Not even _I_ am sure if it is in reaction to 'torture' or some thought about Tony's height. And _I'm _the author! Loki was never one to be cooperative, though.

"There is a bit of torture. Just not in the usual sense," I defend.

"Like having to be near them," Loki finally speaks, his tone dripping with disdain.

"That's not what I was talking about," I reply in exasperation.

"I want to know where the true love comes in," Vision interrupts, though by the look on his face I think he already has an answer in mind.

"Push me and I _will _pair you with Wanda."

"How unoriginal."

I glare at Loki. "Thus the _threat_."

Silence reigns for a moment before I turn to the still-silent Thor and Natasha.

"Well, are you two going to say anything?"

Natasha shakes her head in a barely detectable gesture. How very Natasha of her.

Thor looks uncertain. "Hi?"

Jane steps from the doorway. "What do you mean: where does the true love come in? There'sTony and Pepper, and… and… Thor and I…" she stops, realizing her list isn't very long after all, and looks to me for help.

I shrug. "You'll have to wait and see."

"I hate waiting," Astrid quotes with a grin.

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**Full Summary:** Astrid Quimby is a woman of great mystery. Even the man who claims to be her brother seems to know little about her. When a man comes to Earth searching for something, her brother and her new friends will learn more about her. But not every one of them is sure that's a good thing.

Join Astrid as she forms unlikely alliances with both the Avengers and Loki, and tries to keep them from killing each other—or, at least, trashing her place in their attempt. Follow her as she finds herself fighting for something she thought she never wanted to fight for, and falling for someone she never wanted to fall for.

[Featuring Tony, Steve, Thor, Jane, Natasha, Vision, Wanda, and Loki. MCU canon pairings and Loki x OFC. (Mostly?) MCU canon background, but not a retelling of any of the movies. Set before, during, and after the events of Avengers: Age of Ultron (but, again, not following the movie, but what is going on elsewhere)]

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**Disclaimer:** THIS APPLIES TO THE ENTIRE WORK! I do not own any characters or concepts borrowed from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the original Marvel comics, or any other recognizable content, including other brands, books, and movies that may be referenced, whether obviously or cleverly (if you consider me clever). All credit goes to their respective creators and owners. This _is_ a fan fiction, after all. That's how it works. I do not make any profit from this work. It is for my enjoyment and yours. I do own my OCs, plot, original concepts, etc. Please respect that.

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Without the Darkness There Is No Light

by Riley Berg

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Prologue

Plans Change

Tony Stark was a man of no small means or reputation. He called himself a genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist, and although not all of those epithets were once true or remained true, they were quite accurate in defining him for the multifaceted person he was.

His skyscraper in New York City was almost as large as his ego though it no longer bore his name in large, brightly lit letters as it once did. It still afforded a wonderful view of the Empire State Building and the rest of New York City's wonders, but after the succinct but destructive battle with the Chitauri, Pepper and he had rebuilt the penthouse floors with his new team members in mind. Only the "A" from his name had remained in the damage, and they had decided to replace it with the sign of the Avengers, his new team and the victors of the battle.

Of course, everyone had gone their separate ways after a particularly quiet meal of shawarma and a much needed, long, restful night's sleep, so the newly renovated floors had gone mostly unused. Virginia "Pepper" Potts—the Chief Executive Officer of Stark Industries and his girlfriend—technically lived there, though Tony knew she kept her own condominium somewhere in the vicinity as well, so he always had company. His friend James Rhodes, whom he generally referred to as "Rhodey," was a frequent visitor after their adventures together two years previous.

Dr. Bruce Banner, a nuclear physicist who knew everything there was to know about gamma radiation, was the only member of the team—the Avengers—that had spent any time in their newly designated tower and headquarters. He had a brilliant mind, and Tony liked that. Though their fields of expertise and personalities were remarkably different, they got along surprisingly well.

Bruce never had anywhere to go. He was one to find himself lost in Indonesia or working as a sorry excuse for a doctor in some poor city in a developing country. And so, with nowhere to go, he went to the Tower. Of course, he came and went as he always had, but Tony—under the direction of a concerned Pepper—always made sure he was provided for.

None of the other teammates contacted him, but they had no need to. Tony kept his eye on the news, and whatever illegally-obtained information he could find, and so he knew, or suspected, of the adventures they had had since their parting. Of course, he had had his own adventures not more than a year after the battle against the Chitauri. And there was some excitement in England that involved Thor some months after that.

About a year before he received the call from Pepper, SHEILD had gone dark. There was no more top-secret information to hack into, no databases via which to keep track of Agents Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, and Steve Rogers—though there had been little to no information on them anyway. But before that, there was a lot of action on the Eastern seaboard, and Tony knew that at least one of them was involved.

But the team had gotten together again. They were in the middle of one of many in a series of missions to weed out Hydra when Pepper called with the urgent news. Something was happening yet again. Pepper said Erik Selvig and Jane Foster were already at the Tower, waiting for them. Tony wondered why Selvig was so frequently involved, but was begrudging, though silently, grateful for his expertise. Stark informed the team.

"There's been a change of plans."

As soon as they finished their mission, they would return to Avengers Tower.

But there would be more waiting for them there than Foster and Selvig. And what they thought was the end would, instead, be the beginning.


	3. Chapter 1: And so It Begins

Without the Darkness There Is No Light

by Riley Berg

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Chapter One

And so It Begins

There are very few things I have been absolutely certain of in my life, but one of them is that I do _not _like the way Jane is staring at the electronic readout of whatever one of her scientific instruments she is holding in her hands.

"It's too early in the morning for this," complains Jane, hitting the object against the kitchen counter with one hand and childishly rubbing her bleary eyes with the other.

The state of her hair and clothes suggests that she fell asleep in the lab. Again.

"Did you show it to Erik?" I inquire lightly, feigning disinterest.

"Ya," Jane answers distractedly as she runs a hand through her brunette hair in continued frustration.

Although Jane looks as if her sleep has been less than restful, I surmise that Erik has not gone to sleep at all.

"He's packing," Jane says in further answer.

I snap my head up to look at her. "Is it that serious?" I can no longer keep concern from coloring my tone.

I slide off the counter and look over Jane's shoulder, but the information displayed there holds no meaning for me.

"What is it?" I ask instead.

"I… don't know. But it _is_ concerning. I think we should tell… you know, the Avengers." She glances at the phone on the wall, as if it might have answers for her.

"Have you tried to reach Thor?"

Jane nods. "But there was no answer. I'm sure he's just… busy."

I allow myself a smile. "Out Avenger-ing," she offers.

Jane returns my smile momentarily. "But I should pack."

"Where are you going?"

"This needs pursuing," Jane explains. "Even if we get the information to the Avengers, they will need constant monitoring and interpretation. Erik is going and I'm not letting him go without me."

And I have no intention of letting Jane go without _me_.

"Have you made travel arrangements?"

"No, but I don't know when we'll get ahold of Thor."

"Well, let us stay one step ahead of the game, shall we? You intend to join the Avengers at their base of operations in New York, correct?" I do not wait for confirmation. "So, let us work toward that end. Pack, as you suggested. I will make travel arrangements. Continuing trying to contact Thor, and I will see what I can do about contacting the Avengers through more public or official channels. The worst case scenario will be that we get there before them, but at least, you can begin as soon as they return, instead of having to wait until travel arrangements are made, as well as the length of travel itself."

Jane stares at me, surprised, but eventually nods in agreement. Though Jane has been wise to refrain from asking too many questions, she knows I am wealthy; it is in one of my houses that we currently resided, and all of her room-and-board expenses—as well as some others when I could convince her, or trick her—have been provided for by me.

"You and Erik focus on packing whatever equipment you need. And do _not_ forget important things like your clothes this time."

"That was Erik!" Jane protests, exasperated, not seeing my telling smile.

"Then make sure he packs his underwear," I dismiss.

I watch Jane leave through the same door she entered—the kitchen has multiple entrances—and with a polite "Thank you" to the chef follows suit.

By the time I reach my bedroom door, I am shaking. I do not yet know the implications of Jane's machine's readings, but I do not like the frequency with which such used-to-be-anomalies are occurring. Terra was quiet for centuries, but its encounters with alien life are coming more and more frequently, and less and less quietly. I do not want to think of the war these events portend.

Attempting to contact the Avengers proves fruitless, but I do successfully arrange a private flight for me and my companions—though I never doubted my ability to do so. We will have no trouble traveling with whatever amount of equipment Jane and Erik decide to bring.

Methodically, I secure my long black hair into a bun and slip into a nondescript black dress. I push a pair of sunglasses onto the top of my head. Though my matte hair and unremarkable height allow me an anonymity I appreciate, my gray eyes are rare enough to attract attention. The sunglasses are, therefore, priceless.

Carefully, I check to make sure my ever-present necklace is secured around my neck. It is a fine silver chain on which dangles a black, circular pendant. The necklace is simple and seems unremarkable, like the rest of my apparel—and, I hope, myself—but it is precious beyond even my own understanding.

With similar care, I take inventory of my three rings—two on my left hand and one on my right. The one on my right I wear on my so-called ring finger. It is a golden band, inset with small black stones and bright green jewels, in an alternating pattern all the way around the ring. A human would say it is yellow gold inlaid with onyx and emeralds, but its origin may not be earthly, so I do not know if that is what the materials actually are.

On my left ring finger, I wear a black band set with a purple jewel that, if not rendered invisible—as all my rings are—even humans would understand by sight is other than earthly. Next to it, on my middle finger, is a delicate silver ring. It is finely smithed and elegantly engraved, and one can never be certain whether it changes shape or a trick of the light makes it seem that it does.

Assured that I have my most prized possessions and have sufficiently managed to subdue my appearance, I pack a bag—a small carry-on sized piece of luggage—and throw a dark gray sweater over my arm before wandering downstairs to assist my friends.

Much of the equipment is the invention of Jane or pieces modified from the store-bought standard. Even the gear which is not unique is not accustomed to traveling and, therefore, has no customized carrying case. It all sits in large suitcases, with odd articles of clothing padding the equipment. Well, Erik did not forget to pack his underwear, I think with a smile.

I take it upon myself to ensure that Jane and Erik's personal needs are packed while they finish inventorying their more scientific baggage, and a surprisingly short while later we stand at the front door, watching the several pieces of luggage being hauled into the cargo van that will follow us to the airport.

In a final attempt to reach the Avengers, I try to contact Pepper Potts. The businesswoman is unavailable—it being after business hours in New York—but I leave a message on her personal assistant's answering machine. With a little hope, I slide into the car beside Jane and direct the driver to the airport.

Too many hours later, I stare tiredly at Avengers Tower. Jane insisted on traveling straight to it, not allowing me to reserve us a hotel room or two for a much-needed rest. Miss Potts has yet to return my call, though, so I am uncertain what to do now that we have arrived. The majority of our journey took place during this time zone's night hours when Miss Potts was, presumably, out of the office. Perhaps she has simply not gotten to my message yet. Though in my message I tried to tell Pepper Pott's assistant that the matter was urgent, she may not have understood.

With an irritated sigh, I call Miss Pott's personal assistant again. Although my traveling companions are exhausted with the time difference between England and New York, it is morning here in New York City. The woman seems surprised to hear from me, and with obvious embarrassment apologizes for the delay. She must have assumed I was not serious. She transfers me to the C.E.O. immediately, in rectification for her mistake.

"Hello?"

"Miss Potts?" I inquire, to be sure.

"This is she," she replies professionally.

"Hello, my name is Astrid Quimby, and I am a… friend of Jane Foster's. Do you know of whom I speak?"

"Of course."

"Well, we—she—she and Erik, that is, have come across some… concerning readings and would like to inform the Avengers of them. It would seem, however, that they are away and cannot be reached. We have been trying all the while, but we have arrived in New York before talking with them. Jane is insistent upon… setting up shop as soon as possible. I was wondering if you could arrange that for us, and if you have a better way of contacting one of the Avengers than we do."

There is a long moment of silence. It is a lot to take in, and to judge the truth of.

"Where are you?" Miss Potts finally asks.

"At your door," I admit.

"I will be down momentarily." Miss Potts ends the call without further ado.

"Miss Potts will be downstairs to greet us momentarily," I assure Jane, in response to her look of inquiry.

We exit the vehicle, and coax Erik out of the van he was riding in behind us. I cannot convince him to come with us—he insists someone stay to watch the equipment—but I will not be parted from Jane.

"Miss Foster," greets a pleasant, genuinely happy voice.

I turn to see a woman with strawberry blonde hair, a fashionably lean figure, and a professionally stylish dress shaking Jane's hand. Miss Potts then turns to me.

"And you must be Miss Quimby, from the phone."

"Yes." I return her handshake.

"You should have called earlier; I would have had everything arranged for you."

Jane glances at me, but I refrain from informing Miss Potts of her personal assistant's error in judgment.

"It, unfortunately, did not occur to me until now," I politely lie.

"I do not know exactly where Tony would put you all, but there are a few renovated but unused floors below those belonging to the members of the Avengers. They should be suitable for now."

Pepper Potts instructs several employees in the transportation of the equipment to our newly designated floor, and Erik unnecessarily stays to supervise them. Jane and I follow Miss Potts to the elevator.

"I contacted Tony and let him know what is going on. They will return as soon as they are able."

"Thank you, Miss Potts," Jane sighs in relief.

"Pepper, please," she insists. "Same for you," Pepper nods at me.

"Jane," Jane reciprocates.

"Astrid," I politely follow suit, though I do not prefer to.

I am of no use as Jane and Erik set their equipment up with Pepper's permission and the help of several Stark Industries employees. Pepper and I glance at each other, mutually realizing our uselessness in the matter.

"Would you care for something to eat?" Pepper asks politely. "I don't think we're needed here."

Desiring a reprieve from the commotion, I accept her offer. Jane and Erik need to eat (and sleep) as well, but I know I will not be able to convince them to do either until they are finished.

"You said you are a friend of Jane's?" Pepper asks conversationally after I have eaten a few bites.

I nod, but I am not desirous to give further explanation, and so remains silent. Though, if Thor is coming, basic explanations _will_ have to be made.

"Oh. Are you her intern? I think I heard something about an intern-turned-friend."

I shake my head. "No."

Apparently sensing that I am avoiding the topic, Pepper politely turns the conversation to less personal matters. By the time she walks me back to the elevator, all the arrangements for Jane's, Erik's, and my boarding have been made.

Pepper proves to be a good friend to Jane, and I am glad to see it. Darcy, the intern-turned-friend that Pepper mentioned, has her own life to attend to outside of Jane's research and the crazy adventures Erik pulls people into. Darcy and Jane are good friends, but I found it appropriate, and perhaps needful, that Jane have another friend to add to her small inner circle.

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The disembodied voice of the artificial intelligence known as JARVIS wakes me, with some irrelevant information about the local weather conditions.

And then he informs me that the Avengers arrived in the night and are assembling for breakfast in the common room.

I fling off the bedclothes and spring out of bed, dressing quickly but not without thought to my appearance, and knotting my hair into a bun at the base of my neck without looking in the mirror.

Seeing Erik's bedroom door closed, I venture down the hall to find the gray-haired scientist soundly asleep. After only a moment of pitying hesitation, I pull Erik out of bed. After I inform him he will see Thor again, he obligingly gets ready.

Jane is already gone.

With clothing hastily pulled on, Erik presses the elevator's call button. As we wait, I straighten my own clothes—another simple black outfit—and tucks a few stray hairs into my bun. I have no desire to appear fashionable, but I respect my hosts enough to have a neat appearance. Erik is lovable with his untidy appearance; I am not.

We walk out of the elevator into the common area to find the Avengers, Pepper, and Jane lounging on various pieces of furniture, some with plates of food in hand or nearby.

Pepper jumps up when Erik and I enter, and greets us with a cheery, "Good morning," before instructing us to help ourselves to the extensive, buffet-style breakfast. "Obviously, you don't have to sit at the table," she finishes.

But Erik has no intention of eating first. Thor greets him with a hug and the other Avengers nod or vocalize their good mornings to the man concisely, glancing at me, some curiously, and some warily. Everyone knows Erik. No one knows me.

Thor pulls me into a hug as well. A tight hug.

"Thor!" I chastise with what breath he has not squeezed from my lungs. "Suffocation is a method of torture, _not _a sign of affection."

I shake my head slightly in fond exasperation as he releases me, but return his smile, reminding myself that I knew introductions would not be simple.

"This," Thor begins, turning to his friends, "is my sister, Astrid," he announces, my anglicized name sounding less foreign on his tongue than it did before.

At the shocked expressions on his fellow Avengers' faces, I chastise Thor. "Thor, they will mistake you," I stage-whisper.

I turn to the Avengers. "What he meant to say is that I am a friend. A friend whom he cares about as if I were his own sister. And whom he, therefore, considers to _be_ his sister."

A mutual expression of relief floods the room, though I ascertain that some are still uncertain of my trustworthiness.

Thor looks to me in confusion but wisely remains silent. I dismiss his concerns for a later time with an almost undetectable shake of my head, and Thor proceeds to introduce each of the other Avengers to me.

"Well, shall we get started?" Erik finally breaks the tension.

I smile at his use of "shall."

The Avengers agree with Erik. He and Jane lead Tony Stark and Bruce Banner to their makeshift lab. Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Clint Barton leave together a moment later, telling Thor that they "will join the geeks when they have come to some conclusions that can be interpreted into English." Pepper dismisses herself as well; she has to go to work.

Thor and I are left alone.

"Why did you correct me? I am proud to call you my sister." Thor wastes no time in questioning me.

He has nothing to be proud of, but I know better than to express that thought aloud.

"I am not your sister, though, neither biologically nor… adoptively."

Thor ignores my reference to adoption. "Mother asked me to accept you as my sister. I did so. I have always treated you as my sister and I always will," he assures me.

"And you are my brother," I return. "Whatever else may be, that will remain true. But others do not understand our type of friendship without observing it for themselves, so it is best to explain the matter initially."

"If you had not corrected me, they would think of you as my sister and our friendship would need no explanation."

I stare at him. Did he not notice how his friends reacted to the introduction of Thor's Sister? "They have not had the best experience with your siblings," I explain carefully.

Thor and I have yet to address the matter of Loki, but now is not the time.

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When Thor and I join the others in Jane's lab, Erik is in a frenzy, Stark has an unusual, concerned expression on his face, and Banner is nowhere to be seen.

I walk straight to Erik.

"Erik, calm down," I instruct softly, placing my hands on his shoulders.

He collapses into a chair, but I let one hand remain calmingly on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he mutters.

I turn my head to Jane without removing my hand from Erik.

"It moved," Jane explains, referring to whatever anomaly they earlier detected. She turns back to the computer screen. "The initial… pulse of energy was close to the border between Norway and Sweden, about three-hundred-fifty kilometers north-northwest of Oslo."

The Scandinavian Peninsula. Thor and I exchange glances.

"That was what Erik and I saw, what got us started on this whole thing. The energy sort of trailed and tapered off, disappearing westward, and we thought it was a good idea to let everyone know. But another pulse occurred while we were traveling—actually, nearer the time we were arriving."

I look at the map displayed on the screen. The second anomaly was detected suspiciously close to our residence in England.

Silence reigns.

"Why didn't you notice it when it happened?" I break the silence.

"It was too far away for my equipment to detect. This," she gestures to the large display, "is information from the… databases I have been given access to. But I had to gain access to them, and there is a delay in publishing certain information…"

I nod my understanding and hide my worry.

Something about the shape of the energy is familiar. But its similarity or relationship to my experiences eludes me. Everyone else stares at the display blankly.

"JARVIS," Stark addresses the computer system installed throughout the Tower, "tell Capsicle, Carrot Top, and Legolas they are needed."

The nicknames that would usually be humorous fall flat. The situation is too serious. Stark still seems slightly amused, though.

"What kind of anomaly is it, compared to the others you have encountered?" I ask while we wait for the others to arrive.

Stark looks at me questioningly.

Erik answers. "This is different."

I knew it. I do not know how I knew it, but I did.

"How different?"

"It is an… energy. That is how the equipment can detect it. But it does not have the same signature as the Bifrost, or even the anomalies surrounding the Convergence, which signatures were quite similar."

I tilt my head at the screen.

"Jane, can you calibrate your equipment to a more localized occurrence?"

She looks at me questioningly.

I take a deep breath. I do not want to do this. The Avengers are wary of me already. As I told Thor, they do not seem ready to trust another sibling of his. And this will not help matters.

"If I were to try to recreate that," I gesture to the energy signature, "in a small scale, here in this room, would your instruments be able to measure it accurately enough to compare the two?"

Jane bites her lip for a moment, unperturbed by the implications of my statement but distracted by the science. "I think so. I'll have to recalibrate it, but I think I can do that. Why?"

Rogers, Romanoff, and Barton arrive but apparently sense the seriousness permeating the room and remain silent.

"There is something," I tilt my head at the screen, my eyes losing focus, "familiar about that. I have been struggling to remember what it reminds me of, but I think I know now."

Jane looks at me, worried, but nods her head and begins fiddling with her equipment. Stark summarizes our conversation thus far for the benefit of the newcomers.

Rogers turns to me. "What does it remind you of?"

I consider whether or not to tell them before I am sure. But if I am right, they might not want to use up valuable time later listening to my explanation. I will tell them my suspicions while Jane readies the experiment.

"There is a very basic, or very… _old_," I take a deep breath, "technology, for lack of a better word,"—'magic' would be more suitable, but I suspect they are wary of the term—"that is used to locate an object or person, that I think would have a similar pattern. Because it is so old, it uses an inefficient amount of energy for a very simple process, which might result in so large a signature. If I were to imitate it, my signature would be nearly invisible because I know how to do it efficiently, but it should make the same… shape. If Jane can calibrate her equipment to detect it, then we can confirm or dismiss the theory."

"You have this technology?"

I hesitate. But if I am going to experiment on my theory, they are going to see magic in a few moments anyway. "The old technology that I suspect this… person to be using would be a cross between science—an explainable process—and… magic—a proven, but, as of yet, inexplicable process. I do not have the science or technology part of it. But I can recreate the… inexplicable portion of the process. Which is, honestly, the majority of it."

I watch Jane tinker, not wanting to see my brother's friends' reactions to my admission.

Clint Barton is the first to speak. "Are you saying you can use magic?" he growls.

I pinch my eyebrows together and slowly turn my head to look at him, wondering why there is such venom in his voice. Knowing better than to inquire, or to ask permission for what I am about to do, I carefully reach my mind out to his. I feel like I am pushing through molasses. It has been a long time since I exercised my power. I carefully control my force so he will not detect my presence and no one else will detect my use of power.

It is not difficult to find the source of Barton's fury. The images flash readily before my mind's eye as he remembers them himself. With deep loathing, he focuses on one figure: Loki.

I understand his anger.

"What you experienced was not magic," I inform him evenly.

My declaration was, apparently, not the answer anyone expected.

I glance at Jane. She is ready.

"Do I have your permission to proceed?"

I do not direct the question to anyone in particular. I do not know whose permission I need. Barton, who is wary of magic, Stark, whose tower this is, or Rogers, who appears to be the leader.

Several of the teammates exchange glances and slight nods. Finally, Rogers speaks.

"Go ahead."

I stand where Jane indicates.

She takes a deep breath. "Ready." It is almost a question.

I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. I do not need a great deal of concentration for a task so simple, but I feel myself grow nervous as the implications of my actions grow clearer in my mind. Even Thor, despite all the time we spent together, has rarely witnessed my abilities. And following in the wake of Loki's attempted reign of terror, my magic is unwelcome—never mind that he did not use any magic as far as I am aware.

But whatever or whoever is using the locating technology is searching too close to home. They could be interested in Thor, or Jane, or even Erik. And I would be remiss in my duties as a sister and friend if I did not do all in my power to help them.

I take a deep breath. I have to use as little magic as possible in order to avoid anyone other than Jane detecting my so-called spell. Although I can work spells such as this from within myself, I choose to draw a small ball of energy onto my hand, no bigger than a pencil-top eraser. Disconnecting it from myself in hopes of further hiding my identity from any who might be monitoring energies, I set the small, lavender ball of flame-like energy on the ground. With a single word—a command in the ancient Dark Tongue—the ball of energy disappears.


	4. Chapter 2: And so It Ends

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_Without the Darkness There Is No Light_

by Riley Berg

%

Chapter One

"And so It Ends"

I look at Jane.

Her face is white.

Damn.

"It's almost exactly the same," Jane whispers, confirming my assumptions.

The others look at each other, at a loss.

"So, it's a locating… spell?" Rogers asks.

"No," I answer, "it is a locating _device_, which makes use of magic in a spell-like manner. But yes, it is a locator." I sigh. "A locator that pointed to England," I glance at Jane, "while we were there. And then, when we came here, pointed here."

Thor straightens into a semi-defensive pose. Erik looks around nervously. Jane stares at me, silently begging for further explanation.

Why am I the one with answers? I prefer to sit in quiet corners, unnoticed.

"When you first showed us the anomalies, I thought perhaps Thor was the target. The Scandinavian Peninsula was favored by us in our earlier centuries." I ignore the choking noise coming from Stark. "But if the directional spikes in energy were pointing toward the target, it stands to reason that it is not Thor, whose location was elsewhere, but you, Erik, or even me that is the target. I could be a coincidence that a different target happened to be in England when we were, and happened to move in the same direction we did by the time the locator was used again, but that would be a dangerous assumption to make."

"So, this _thing_ that is searching for… you guys is coming _here_?"

"When will they be here?"

"Who would be looking for you?"

"Can we determine anything from the kind of tech they have?"

I smile at Stark. He asked a valuable question.

"Yes," I admit, "we can."

He looks at me expectantly. I turn to Thor instead.

"It means that I must take leave of your presence for a time."

Dumbfounded by my declaration, Thor lets me extend to tiptoe and kiss him on the cheek. It is not until I have moved to Jane, placing a kiss on her furrowed forehead, that Thor is finally able to speak.

"You are not going without me."

I sigh as I make my way toward Erik.

"Yes, I am, Thor."

My tone is final. But Thor is disobedient.

"No, you're not."

I pull Erik into a hug, trying to reassure him with my touch and my expression as I pull away. Everything will be alright. He will be perfectly safe. He stares back at me uncertainly.

Thor catches my arm as I turn toward Stark.

"_Ástriðr."_

I look at him pleadingly, willing him to remain silent.

"_I lost you once. I do not know what I did to drive you away, Sister, but I will not let you leave me in such a manner again."_ He speaks in the tongue of the Asgardians.

We ignore the looks of curiosity and confusion surrounding us.

"_My departure from Asgard was out of your control, Thor," _I reassure him for the one-hundred-sixteenth time. _"But if what I suspect is true, I have no way of determining whether I go to meet friend or foe. And if it is a foe, it could be a formidable one. In any case, it is my meeting or my battle, not yours."_

"_You are my __sister__, Ástriðr. Your battles __are__ my battles."_

I shake my head. _"I will not let the darkness consume you."_

My answer is not what he expects. He remains silent, uncomprehending and shocked, as I turn again to Stark.

"Mr. Stark—"

"Tony, please."

I smile. "Tony. I thank you for your hospitality, but I am afraid I must depart." I glance at Thor. "If events are such that I can return, I would appreciate a standing invitation, if only to assure my brother that I continue to breathe."

Tony looks at me, a trace of shock in his eyes, though I am not sure which aspect of my request he is shocked by.

"Yes, of course."

"Ástriðr."

I sigh for what feels like the twentieth time today. "You said you wished I had made a dramatic exit instead of sneaking off at night. You have your wish."

Thor glances at his friends. I do not know what he sees there, but he apparently feels free to continue.

"I said that because if you had tried to leave in such a manner I could have stopped you."

"You are not going to stop me."

"No. I am not."

"You are not?"

"No. I am coming with you. And you will allow anyone who wishes to join us to do so. If you go to face a threat, I will be by your side."

"This _threat_ you speak of," interrupts Rogers, "is it a threat to Earth?"

I turn to the captain. "I do not know. But I do not think so."

"I will go." He turns to Banner, who snuck in quietly sometime during the course of our experiment. "You can stand down."

Bruce does not argue. In fact, he looks relieved and leaves the room immediately. I get the impression he did not want to join us at all. I wonder why he did.

"I'll go," volunteers Tony.

Romanoff and Barton exchange glances and depart without announcement.

"There, you have some companions on your quest," Thor concludes, satisfied.

I smile sadly. I used to travel with six companions. I enjoyed those days.

"Tony and—if you will allow me—" I direct that at Rogers, "Steve are poor replacements for the five we used to 'quest' with."

Thor returns my sad smile, his eyes glazing over for a moment. Then he shrugs off his contemplation and smiles at me.

"They are fun in their own way."

"I suppose I will find out soon enough. Jane, would you please take Erik to our—your quarters."

I slump, unladylike, into the chair Erik vacated. Staring at the screen and the data listed to the side, I do several silent calculations.

"I will be honest with you all," I say, swiveling the chair toward my two new and one old companions. "I do not know much about what to expect from here, but I will share with you what I suspect."

I look to Steve Rogers: Captain America, whom I noticed took command of his fellow Avengers, however subtly. He is obviously their leader, even if it is Tony who houses them. Thor is a prince, and—I have little doubt—capable of defeating any one of them, but his authority is in a different world, and he always had respect for good fighters, as long as they strove to be the best they could be, whatever their species and ability.

"The energy readings of from a location device—an old, inefficient location device. But his or her or its or their travel was _not_ detected by any of Jane's equipment, or displayed in the other equipment databases that Jane has access to."

"So they're… human?"

I shake my head. "I find that improbable. If it was someone who had been on T—Earth for some time, they would have _started_ in England, I should think, or perhaps here."

"If they aren't from Earth, how'd they get here? Without evidence?" Tony joins the discussion.

I shrug. (I am feeling unladylike today.) "The same way most do: by spacecraft." Steve and Tony exchange glances. "The Bifrost is a relatively unique mode of travel. Most civilizations are not advanced enough, or rich enough, or otherwise capable of establishing such an instrument. Most peoples that are advanced enough to venture beyond their home planet do so in the mundane spacecraft your 'science-fiction' lauds. This may be an advantage to us."

I look at the screens.

"Judging by the likely age of the locating technology, and the length of time it took to travel from the first location to the second, I suspect that the spacecraft is not designed for inner-atmospheric travel beyond take-off and landing, or it is too gaudy a ship to risk using, for fear of detection.

"Such crafts often have a smaller vessel, in the way your old sailing ships had a row boat. Its use was similar: go where the big ship cannot. If my calculations are correct, it travels at approximately one-hundred kilometers per hour and has an autopilot feature. But I do not know how long it will last without refueling or recharging. I doubt it will take them across the ocean."

"Which means?"

"They have no way of refueling, for Earth does not yet accommodate such craft, and recharge would require reuniting with the spacecraft, which would have to be done multiple times during the journey, which is, of course, impossible. Which leaves two options: use the spacecraft despite whatever complications prevented its use initially, or learn how the local populace travels and do that—which also presents its own problems."

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying that we probably have time before they arrive, but also that we do not have means of calculating their—how do you say?—estimated time of arrival."

There is a long moment of silence as we all stare at the displays as if answers might suddenly occur to us if we look long enough.

"You said we can determine something from the kind of tech they have," Tony finally reminds me. "I assume you were not thinking of the time-related discussion, because whatever thought crossed your mind, you were determined to leave, immediately and alone."

I smile. How astute of him. I think we could be friends. I believe, in fact, that we could be quite close to best friends. Perhaps my best-friend-in-the-world. (The position of best-friend-in-the-universe is already filled.)

"The technology is, I suspect, of Darkling origin. I, therefore, determined that I am the likeliest target, and wished to… go where there would be no collateral damage."

Even Thor looks confused, and I note that both Steve and Tony notice this.

Tony hesitates to question me. Thor remains silent. He is still uncertain where he stands, so far as his right to pry into my secrets is concerned.

Steve summons the courage to ask. "What makes you think they are "Darklings," what _is_ a Darkling, and why would they be after you?"

I pull in a deep breath slowly through my nose and push it back out in a swift exhalation.

"The similarity in the pattern."

I walk to the computers, pushing a few buttons until the reading of my experiment shows next to the larger energy readings detected in Europe.

"You can see the similarities. If you were to look at them closely, you would see that there are minor differences. Each instance will be different, even when performed by the same instrument or person, but there will be a pattern and a limit to the variations. Those two," I point to the map of the world, with its too elongated starburst, "upon closer inspection, would be confirmed to be two separate events from the same source, and mine," I gesture, perhaps unnecessarily, to the display of my experiment, "would be evaluated as a similar spell, but from a different source."

An unspoken "so?" hangs in the air.

"But if I were to teach, say, _you_," I point to Tony, "how to do this… spell, your display, while perhaps maintaining the generic outline of an… explosion with a trailing at one end, would be far less similar to mine or theirs than mine is to theirs."

"Why?"

"Because you are human. Your body would facilitate magic differently than mine, leaving a different signature." I sigh. "I suppose I can compare it to D.N.A. Your D.N.A. when looked at broadly, would demonstrate that you are a sentient being, and on that level may not look very different from mine. But upon closer inspection, our specific species could be determined and differentiated, and upon even further analysis, you could be differentiated from anyone else, even of your own species.

"It is like that. I can tell that the magic's source—the magic within the technology they are using—is Darkling. It will have been… programmed, for lack of a better word, long ago. They creator is likely dead. Therefore, it could, technically, be _anyone_ who is using it, but I still believe it is most likely a Darkling."

"So, you're a… Darkling?" Steve questions tentatively.

Thor scoffs.

"Yes."

Thor's scoff turns to a choke. "What?"

Tony looks at me in surprise. "Your brother doesn't know what you are?"

I notice a shadow of suspicion on Steve's face, but I ignore the all-too-familiar expression.

I smile a crooked smile. "My identity was… guarded on Asgard. Even Thor was not privy to certain facts."

"What, exactly, is a Darkling?" Steve asks, eyes narrowed.

"I cannot tell you _exactly_," I begin, "any more than I can tell you _exactly_ what a human is. But if it will make more you more comfortable, I will tell you _something_ about them."

Steve nods.

Thor sits.

Tony leans against the table.

"'Darkling' is an informal term, a translation into English of a word we use to shorten our name. We are Klaa'killa'shaan," I say for Thor's benefit—perhaps he has heard the term— "or, translated, the Children of Darkness."

Steve looks at me warily.

"Our people are not dissimilar to the Æsir and Asyniur—to the Asgardians in strength, ability, resistance, lifespan, and such. Our technological abilities are also similar, but not confined to healing and travel, so if you were to travel to the Dark Planet, you would see something more futuristic than old fashioned like you would if you traveled to Asgard." I do not know if either of the two has gone to Asgard. "But there are some who still practice magic, as well."

"And you are one of those?"

I nod. "But… I do not like using it." It is not true, but I do not have the time or desire to explain why I _should_ _not_ use it. "I would not have done anything, even so small as my experiment, except that I felt I had to confirm or dismiss my suspicions in order to make the best choice for…" Jane's protection.

"What can we expect from a… Darkling?"

"As I alluded, they are strong. Have either of you sparred with Thor?" They nod. "It would be similar, except it would be a real fight, not a sparring match. As for weapons. They tend to have an age's variety of them. Swords or other old-fashioned weapons. Guns. More advanced shooters, ones that are designed to work without oxygen or gravity—ones only dreamed of in your science fiction. It depends on the person, really."

"What might he want with you?"

I look at Steve, despairing.

"Either to drag me back or to kill me," I answer honestly. "I am afraid I cannot envision any scenarios in-between. And even if they have no hostility toward me, I have no intention to go back with them, so things may get… ugly either way."

"Why are you call the Children of Darkness?" Tony finally asks.

I sigh. "_That_ is a long tale for another time. But, if you are worried about the whole 'Darkness' aspect, they are as a whole no more evil—for I know humans give darkness negative meanings—than the humans are as a whole. There are both good and bad among them, like most races."

This seems to reassure them a bit. Of course, nothing is quite so simple. But I hope my explanation will both suffice and not lead them astray.

After another long pause, Steve speaks, this time in a commanding tone. "We should gear up and get out of here, to avoid collateral damage if it comes to a fight. Let's get somewhere less densely populated—_un_populated if possible. If they're using a locator, they'll find you wherever you go.

"We can keep monitoring for energy outputs, and tell Romanoff and Barton to be on alert in case these Darklings come here."

Tony nods and leaves the room, perhaps to relay Steve's orders or to ready himself. I brought little, but I might as well pack it, so I go to do so, Thor trailing behind like a(n unnecessary) bodyguard.

As I make my way toward the exit, bag in hand, I notice Erik's worry.

"Do not fret," I try to reassure. "We will be fine."

He nods uncertainly.

"We all have survived big messes before. And you have little idea how tough Thor is," I smile.

Erik is reassured a little, but he has never seen me in a fight, or talk my way out of one, before. I pull him into a hug. We have become good friends despite my attempts to remain indifferent.

"Ready?"

I look up to see Steve and Tony waiting in the open elevator. Thor joins them, his lips thoroughly kissed goodbye by Jane. I run, entering the elevator just in time for the doors to begin closing.

The elevator takes us to the floor where their aircraft is housed, and I situate myself in a seat across from Thor as Steve and Tony take the pilot and co-pilot seats.

%%%

"A river of molasses," I muse aloud, contemplating the rate at which time seems to be flowing while we wait for the Darklings.

I do not know exactly where we are, but there is no one nearby. Woods surround the small grass-covered dale in which we camp. We have been here for a few short hours, but it already feels like days. During our journey, the third swell of energy was detected in New York, pointing toward our location. The Darklings must have continued following it, for some hours later, just a few moments ago, the fourth burst of energy that pointed toward our current location was also detected. If Tony's calculations of their speed are correct, they will meet us approximately at sunset.

The sun has sunk below the horizon, but twilight has yet to fade when we hear rustling nearby. The three men that accompany me jump to their feet, Thor calling Mjølnir, Steve picking up his shield, and Tony calling his Iron Man suit from its convenient carrying case.

By the time the intruder clears the trees, all three are ready for battle.

But the man walking across the clearing is not whom I expected.

"Mar'kwa?" I question my eyes in disbelief.

Mar'kwa stops at the edge of our camp and turns to me with a cold glare. I feel a shiver run down my spine. He wears the uniform of the Protector, a position he inherited from his father before I was born. And yet here he is on Terra, far away from the Planet Beneath the Black Sun, wearing the paraphernalia of the Protector as if he were home fulfilling his duties. It is a mockery, I conclude indignantly.

"_So the little traitoress dares to show her face_," he comments, his voice dripping with a disdain I have never before heard him use.

The pendant of my necklace warms my skin. He speaks blasphemy, I silently translate its reaction.

"_Though not your true one. Your Asyniur disguise is disgusting."_

I stand straighter. What is wrong with Mar'kwa? Abandoning his post, staring at me icily, calling me a traitor with sureness and contempt. Before I left, there were some rumors floating about that I was, or would become, a traitor. I believe that is why Mother sent me away; to protect me from our people's uncertainty until such a time as I could choose what to become and show them who I truly was. But Mar'kwa is my kin. He should not condemn me for a crime I have yet to commit.

I take a deep breath. "_What do you want, Mar'kwa?_" I let my tone remain even, disguising the tumult of emotions inside me. It has been centuries since I last spoke in the Dark Tongue, but it comes naturally. It is sweet and smooth like honey and I now realize how much I regret its absence.

"_The Artifact_," he replies concisely.

I feel my eyes grow wide, their brows rising. "_You __what__?_"

Something is wrong. Something beyond the obvious. Mar'kwa knows better than to make the request he is making.

"_I wish to return the Artifact to its rightful place. With the queen._"

I tilt my head at him and bite my tongue to keep from replying in any number of ways.

"_The Artifact_," as he calls it, "_is not something one simply __takes__,_" I remind him.

"_That portion of the legend is obviously less than accurate. __You__ have it,_" he concludes as if that explains everything.

He thinks I _took_ it? I scoff inwardly at the idea. But he seems convinced that I am not the Artifact's—the Agent of Darkness's—rightful Keeper, that he can somehow take it from me, and that it will obediently take my younger sister, who sits on the throne in my stead, as its new Keeper. But no one can make that decision except the Darkness itself.

My sister was foolish to admit she did not have possession of the Darkness. But what errors led to this encounter between Mar'kwa and I are currently of no consequence. What is done is done, and I must contend with the here and now.

"_What do you intend?_" I ask this time.

"_To give you a traitor's punishment_," he replies evenly, "_and to bring the Artifact back to Her Majesty_."

Her Highness, I silently correct, surprised at my possessiveness over the crown I was never sure I wanted.

But I have more important matters to think on. A traitor's punishment is death. Mar'kwa intends to kill me. _Murder_, the Darkness whispers in my mind, warming against my skin once more.

I mentally shake my head. Mar'kwa is a prince of rich heritage. He is privileged to understand the Darkness as most others are not. As my mother's Bonded, he should understand that his implications and assumptions are false. Has someone poisoned his mind?

I notice that Thor has taken a defensive stance. A glance confirms that storm clouds are gathering overhead. He knows what a traitor's punishment is, it being the same in Asgard. I know him well enough to see a trace of doubt in the confusion and determination, but I am grateful for his allegiance.

Mar'kwa glances at my companions. "_Can they understand me?_" He knows human technology is far behind that which he has access too, but the display before him makes him wonder if they have translator implants after all.

"I can," Thor replies in the All-Tongue.

The wind rips my hair out of the loosely held bun and whips my dress around me. I do not shiver. I was born to the cold and I am at one with it.

Mar'kwa stares at me for a moment before turning to Thor and requesting translation. Mar'kwa would not dirty his tongue by learning a petty human language, but Thor has studied the All-Tongue sufficiently to both understand and be understood.

Thor nods his head and Mar'kwa addresses my three companions.

"_I apologize, sirs_," he says with something close to sincerity, "_but this matter does not involve you. I see that you are all surprised to learn about this young woman's crimes, and, therefore, I do not implicate you in them. You are free to leave without my punishment, but she_," he turns his icy glare to my once more, "_must die_."

Without translating Mar'kwa's last two words, Thor steps in front of me defensively, Mjølnir at the ready.

"Thor, no," I order with surprising calm, placing a hand on his shoulder. The others had begun to follow his example.

Mar'kwa smirks. "_I had heard the sons of Odin were nothing to praise. I see they were right. Foolishly guarding a traitor from her rightful punishment. You don't know what is going on, do you? No one ever told you, did they?_"

Thor lowers Mjølnir slowly, glancing at me, his doubt more defined on his face now. I shake my head in dismissal. Now is not the time for the revelation of secrets.

I move forward, walking past Thor and to Mar'kwa. Mar'kwa is the greatest warrior of my people, now that his father is dead. I cannot outfight him. I have also concluded that I will not convince him of my innocence or the error of his thinking before he strikes the fatal blow.

The only remaining option is to die.

I stand before Mar'kwa, accepting.

"_I see you plead guilty_," he sneers in a very un-Mar'kwa-like manner.

Slowly, he withdraws a dagger. It is beautifully crafted and deadly sharp. It is an heirloom from his father, one-half of a dagger-sword pair that was forged millennia ago.

My three companions, disobeying my unspoken orders to stand down, converge on my executioner. He dodges Thor, back kicks Steve, sending him across the clearing, and lands a fist on Tony's face. The smell of blood—presumably Tony's from a bloody nose—registers in my mind, but then Mar'kwa moves swiftly toward me, and—

The pain is excruciating. And then it is gone. I stare at the dagger hilt pressed against my flesh. I feel four sets of eyes staring at me, three in perplexed shock, one in victory. Dark blood seeps from the wound. I watch in horror as the black pendant hanging from my necklace slowly floats upward. In realization, I turn my head to Mar'kwa. He has a smug look of satisfaction on his face as he watches the small black object intently.

But it is not my life I fear for; it is his.

Silently, I beg the Darkness to spare Mar'kwa. A tear slips down my cheek, but my sobbing is trapped in my throat. I plead. I reason. I bribe. Mar'kwa does not need to die; he is not in control of his actions, I try to convince it.

I look on in confusion as the Agent of Darkness neither executes Mar'kwa nor settles back to my chest. Instead, it continues floating upward, pulling the necklace over my head and disappearing into the storm clouds above.

I look at Mar'kwa in disbelief. He was right. I am unworthy. The Darkness has left me. And I must die.

With an arrogant and satisfied, "_I was right_," Mar'kwa leaves me to die among friends.

Although I said so myself, as soon as Mar'kwa spoke those words, I knew we were wrong. He was not saying that he was right and I was wrong, but that the Darkness was wrong, and I was an unfortunate casualty of war: an ignorant girl, corrupted by the enemy, and used as a sacrifice.

But the Agent of Darkness is never wrong.

"Thor," I gasp, staring at his horrified face, "call Gaea."

He looks at me in confusion and worry as I cough up more blood.

"Say 'Gaea,'" I try to explain. "She'll come. She… knows what... to do."

My sight begins to distort and I close my eyes in fear. My hearing soon fades, and then all the world is falling up. Blackness. Silence. Weightlessness.


	5. Chapter 3: Life After Death

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_Without the Darkness There Is No Light_

by Riley Berg

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Chapter Three

"Life After Death"

Pain.

Why is there no pain?

I wake unwillingly. But someone is shoving me rather roughly, so I have little choice in the matter.

"Ástriðr. Wake up. _Please_. I need you to wake up."

I open my eyes to the unexpected sound of the All-Tongue and an unexpectedly pleading voice and observe the unexpectedly anxious face. Anxiety is unbecoming of the Goddess of Earth.

"Gaea," I breathe.

"Thank the gods you're awake!"

I manage a weak smile at her ironic choice of words.

"Can you sit up?"

I understand from her tone that it is imperative that the answer is yes, so I try.

Slowly, and with a little assistance from Gaea, I sit up. As she peers at me, I look around. I am in the Sanctuary. She must have taken me here to heal after—

"Do you think you can stand?"

I feel dizzy, but nod my head anyway, and let her pull me from the soft, white linens. Carefully loosening and then releasing her grip, Gaea steps away.

"Are you going to be alright?"

I nod uncertainly.

"Here, drink this."

Gaea offers me a vial of a black and—I discover upon drinking it—slimy, cold substance. It slithers down my throat unpleasantly.

"A god's version of those energy drinks the humans are presently so fond of," she smiles, though I can tell it is a forced expression.

I stand still as I feel my mind clear. I am no more awake, and no less dizzy. But the potion or whatever it was has pushed my tiredness almost out of reach, and blown the fog to the back of my mind. I should be able to function for a time. As my mind clears, I remember the events that led me to sleep, and my hand flies to my chest. I look down without surprise when I feel my necklace in its usual place. I do not know how it returned to me, or why it left—perhaps to fool Mar'kwa—but if it chose to stay with me until this time, I am not surprised it is continuing its companionship.

"I need you to stop Loki," Gaea announces suddenly.

I snap my eyes to hers. Loki? I thought he was hiding somewhere. Everyone thinks he is dead, which is to his advantage—to his _extreme_ advantage. Why would he reveal himself?

"I—I—" Gaea stutters, and I stare.

What has the goddess stuttering?

She pulls in a deep breath, drawing to her full height and restoring her regal appearance. In a newly renewed voice, she begins again. This is the Gaea I know and love.

"I called him here to assist in your healing, Ástriðr. I knew you were not dead, that you would heal. But I did not know how long it would take, or how long you were willing to _let_ it take. I did not know how to help you beyond those healing skills which apply to all higher species—which are few—and the few things I had learned from you when first you came. But I suspected Loki could… help."

I stare at her, dumbfounded. "You asked _Loki_. To help. To. _Help_. To help!?" What was she thinking? He tried to enslave her children! Take over her planet!

"I thought it was the only way."

I fight the temptation to bring my palm to my face.

"And it did not go as planned," I surmise.

"He left," she confirms. "He _did_ help in healing you," she defends herself.

I raise an eyebrow. When did Loki learn the healing arts?

"He told me you were well on your way to recovery. That you would wake soon and that your body would take care of the remaining healing, with proper rest and nutrition and all the usual prescriptions of life. But when he left, he did not return to… wherever it is he came from. He stayed on Earth."

I nod my understanding, forgetting for the moment Loki's new healing skills. She worries that he is up to no good again. Which, judging by his recent turn toward evil, is likely.

I sigh. If Thor is my brother, then Loki is my best friend. There bound to be problems that accompany being best friends with a man now determined to become the God of Evil. This appears to be one of them.

"Do you know where he is?"

"No. I'm sorry."

He is hiding from the Sight, I assume, but it is not _my _Sight he hides from. I am not the only prying eye in the universe. My other gifts would be sufficient to track him, but if I am to continue hiding my powers, I am going to have to do things in a more... human way.

"It is alright. I will find a way."

Though it _is_ a bit noisy, figuratively speaking, now would be a wonderful time to have that locator of Mar'kwa's. But I do not want to think about Mar'kwa.

"I should warn you: I woke you early—though I suppose you are aware of that—and even if I had not, your wakefulness would not be an indication of your full healing, just that you were … healed enough to wake."

I nod. She already said this.

"The drink will help you, but it is an artificial sort of energy. It metabolizes quickly and cannot replace sleep or food or drink. You are still healing. Someone needs to stop Loki, but you need to be aware of your limitations, your needs." She gestures to a nearby table. "Eat before you go, and take a few vials with you." There are several more vials of black liquid on the windowsill.

She leaves without a goodbye; Gaea does not say goodbyes. Endings and beginnings are not differentiated in her mind. She neither greets nor dismisses. She simply accepts and watches life as it comes, appreciating each creation and destruction, each life and death.

I eat only a little and refrain from taking any of the indicated vials. I silently chastise myself, as I will probably regret it later, but I do not like the taste, and I can—or hope I can—do without artificial energy and this strange feeling it gives me.

Gaea has a teleportation machine of sorts. It does not serve as a locator—it cannot track a specified creature or object—but it can send you to a specified location, and without the energy disturbance other technology emits. It is Asgardian in appearance, but I never encountered such an object while staying in Asgard, so I do not know whether or not that is its true origin.

Carefully triple-checking my designated destination, I nod at the willowy dryad that operates the contraption.

Light surrounds me and I arrive at my chosen location momentarily. New York City.

My things, though they are few, are, presumably, still in the Tower. I look down at my black shift. Neither Gaea nor I thought of a change of clothes.

But my destination was chosen carefully. This apartment serves as a safe house of sorts for SHEILD. The closets are well-stocked. Under the bed—an unoriginal location, I know—is a locked money box. I have little difficulty cracking the code (I did not remember it) and opening the metal box to reveal four stacks of United States dollar bills: tens, twenties, fifties, and one-hundreds. I take a few from each pile, hoping that the reduction in the stacks will not be noticeable by sight. They will take inventory eventually, but I will be long gone before then.

In my new, hopefully inconspicuous, attire, I exit by way of the stairs and make my way to the little café with an astounding view of the Tower. Humans are talkative. In a short while, I discover from the late breakfasters that the so-called Avengers are away from home. Rumors suggest another mission to Europe. (They can improve their OpSec.)

Sneaking into Avengers Tower is unnecessary. My identity is recognized immediately by Stark's A.I., who relays orders to allow me unimpeded access. I ask JARVIS to refrain from advertising my presence, or informing Tony. I hope he obeys. I do not know exactly how long I have been away, but I am grateful that my biometrics have not been deleted from the system since I was here.

Hoping for luck, though I know it does not exist, I make my way to the floor that Jane, Erik, and I used however long ago. It is devoid of human life, but on a neatly made bed, I find my bag resting, almost ceremoniously. I do not take it, or the clothes that are in it. I extract my wallet and the StarkPhone—a forgotten present I received from Stark before we left to look for Mar'kwa—and leave all else as I found it.

In one of Tony Stark's laboratories, I pull two computer screens next to each other. On one, I search for footage of my encounter with Mar'kwa. On the other, I search Stark's personal and any remotely accessible databases I can get my metaphorical hands on. What am I searching for? Pictures of Loki. I get distracted reading the old SHIELD file on Loki. I see that it has been edited, declaring him dead. I wonder why they consider it a certainty; I had thought they were smart enough to cite him as "presumed dead" at the worst. Last time someone thought him dead, he was very much alive and did quite a bit of damage.

Having found sufficient images, I copy them into a facial-recognition program I hope Tony developed himself. It accesses live feeds of phones, broadcasting cameras, satellites. Any image-capturing device. Every post to social media.

I glance at the other screen, but I do not find what I am looking for there—there is no footage of Mar'kwa's actions—and close that program.

There are no results, in either the past day or present time. Loki is being smart. I suppose he was only detected when he came to conquer the world because he _wanted_ to be detected then. He does not want to be detected now. I leave the program running just in case, but decide to try another method.

I would rather not use any of my powers, but if I must choose between Sight and sorcery, Sight is the better choice. It makes less noise. None, really, except to those who know how to listen. I hope Loki is not hiding from the Sight, as I know he is capable of, but I doubt I will have any luck finding him this way either.

I close my eyes and breathe in and out with carefully measured calmness. It has been a long time since I accessed my Sight. In my mind's eye, I conjure images of Loki. The times he spent at my home. The time I spent on Asgard. The many adventures Thor and the Simpletons Three (as Loki secretly called them) led us on. The messes Sif, Loki, and I had to clean up after the said four got themselves in trouble. I picture him as I have seen on surveillance footage of his rampage on Terra. I take all those images and the feelings that accompany them and open my eyes, extending my mind to search for him.

Though my eyes are open, they are unseeing. Unseeing of the world around me. Instead, I see everywhere else. With a small turn of mind, I focus on Terra, searching for Loki where I know him to be.

But I cannot find him.

He is veiling himself from my—or someone else's—Sight after all.

With a sigh, I venture to the room where I performed my experiment for Jane. It is emptied of the equipment then in use, but I do not need them. I do not need to use the same location, but should my sorcery leave a residue, I wish it to be indistinguishable from that experiment earlier performed.

Standing in approximately the same location, I draw the same lavender energy into the same small, wriggly ball on the palm of my hand, and send it away with the same command, but this time specified to Loki's location.

I feel a quiver as my sorcery nears its target. In a moment, it will broadcast Loki's location to my mind.

But before I receive my prize, two arms grab me from behind. One wraps firmly around my waist, locking me in place. The other presses my shoulder into my captor as his hand covers my mouth.

A hand covering one's mouth is, of course, not completely effective, so I try to scream anyway—though I doubt anyone will hear. In fact, _I_ hear nothing. Stilling in my shock, I become aware of an almost imperceptible tingle on my lips, in my mouth, and down my throat. Magic. I wiggle my tongue behind my teeth in discomfort. A silencing spell.

Loki.

He does not speak, so I cannot hear his voice. He does not release me, so I cannot see him. But I know it is him. I recognize the texture of his magic. He did well in hiding it; I did not notice it initially. But there is no mistaking it now. Cool as mint, bitter as cocoa, and sweet as honey, with a warm aftertaste as the cocoa and honey mix on your tongue. Fire and ice. And smooth, smooth as a silvertongue's snare.

Refusing to further use my own gifts, I simply stand there. I do not fight back. I do not force him to release me either physically or magically.

Slowly, he loosens his hold on me and I feel the itch of his magic fade. Taking a hurried step forward, I wipe my face in a useless attempt to rid myself of the memory of the sensation.

It takes me a moment to find the right language to use. I decide on the Dark Tongue. Unless Mar'kwa remains on the planet, Loki and I are the only ones on Terra that speak it, so far as I am aware. No one will be able to understand our conversation.

"_Never do that again_," I order unhappily, my back still to the perpetrator.

"_You were going to scream_," he states by way of explanation. It is not an excuse. His tone implies that it is debatable whether or not he should have condescended to reply at all.

I turn my head to glare at him, but he is in human disguise and I cannot remain agitated in the face of something so fascinating. Even wearing modern human clothes, he is not without style. He always was oddly particular about that. Him and Thor both. I always attributed it to Fandral having more influence over them than either of them cared to admit.

But I was searching for Loki at the request of Gaea; I have business to attend to. He must have used my sorcery against me, to locate and teleport himself to me. I will use his presence to my advantage.

"_What are you doing?_" I ask casually.

"_Standing here_," he replies childishly.

I groan in frustration but am silently grateful. If he is willing to be puerile, then he is not interested in threatening my life, at least not immediately. But he could still intend to use casualness to lower my guard so he may escape more easily.

"_What are you doing here, on Terra—Midgard?_" I sigh.

Loki stops and I turn my head to look at him. I observe his expression of confused disbelief.

He narrows his eyes at me. "_What are __you__ doing?_" he asks carefully.

"_On Midgard, or searching for you?_"

"_Searching for me_," he replies quietly.

"_Midgard_ _is not a place you are generally considered welcome,_" I say in explanation.

"_Gaea sent you after me_," he concludes.

I nod.

"_You can assure her I intend no harm_."

I raise an eyebrow in a practiced expression of disbelief that Loki is all too familiar with.

"_To anyone under her care_," he specifies.

"_Then what __are__ you doing here?_"

Loki stops once again and lets out a long sigh. Although I have been privileged—if one can call it that—to hear him sigh more than others have, it still seems an odd action for him to take.

He is debating whether or not to lie to me, I understand.

"_Do not lie_," I advise.

Although I doubt I know him well enough to detect every lie he speaks, I am already aware of the possibility of this one. A lie now will not be successful.

"_Looking for Mar'kwa_," he admits.

I scoff. "_Why?_"

"_He did that to you, did he not?_" Loki states more than questions, gesturing to where my wound hides beneath my shirt.

"_You are tracking him in order to offer your services?_" I inquire warily, ever uncertain whether Loki returns my friendship or plots my downfall.

I find myself pinned to the nearest wall.

Loki is angry.

I do not understand why he is so angry, and he says nothing to explain. He merely stares at me as panic blooms in my stomach, washing me in warmth. I feel my heart rate quicken as each breath comes more shallow than the last. Fear tingles down my spine and I feel my body grow weaker each moment, dizziness beginning to cloud my mind.

I focus on the pressure of his hand against my shoulder and the discomfort of my back against the hard wall, trying to maintain some control over my mind and body.

Loki releases me and in my weakness, I collapse to the floor. I have never had an extraordinarily strong body, though it is naturally better than a human's. Even so, a shove to the shoulder should not do so much damage, even if the perpetrator is Loki.

He lets me sit there in silence, as I focus on my breathing and as my heart rate slows. The pain and weakness fade almost immediately, but a tingle of fear still passes through me on the occasion of memory as the warmth of panic slowly dissipates.

"_Your cheeks are red_," he comments idly.

I glare up at him through my eyelashes. A hundred retorts try to force their way to my tongue, but I bite it for fear of angering him further. He reacted so harshly and a moment later pretends as if nothing occurred. I do not wish to test his boundaries further today.

Loki was not only foolish enough to come to Terra, but to venture into human territory. Why would he do such a thing, just to find Mar'kwa? I cannot imagine an answer, but it must be important enough for him to risk notice and capture. Those that oppose Loki include things far worse than humans.

Through gritted teeth, I return to our conversation, my eyes now downturned. "_You are looking for Mar'kwa, but you cannot find him_," I assume. "_If he discovers that his assassination attempt was unsuccessful, he might try again. If you are looking for Mar'kwa and he is looking for me, then why not stay with me and let him come to you?_"

I remain on the floor and do not dare look up at Loki. He remains silent.

The soft rustle of movement draws my attention, but with careful control, I avoid looking toward the sound. Loki does not care; he lifts my chin, peering at me curiously from where he is now kneeling in front of me.

He wipes a tear from my face and I stare at the offending droplet. I did not realize I had been crying. I raise my hand to wipe my face but learn that I shed but a single tear.

I detect an unspoken apology in Loki's eyes as he assists me to my feet, but I know that is all I will receive. He will never voice his regrets aloud, never explain his actions. Even before he fell he was like that; I doubt the trait has improved since.

I observe Loki carefully. He is searching for Mar'kwa, for what reason I know not. He might have additional plans while here on Terra, but he is not going to divulge them to me, not at this time. His apologetic glance, however fleeting, is a good sign. I need to keep an eye on him, but some level of cooperation is required for me to do so without using any of my gifts.

"_So, we are at an impasse?_"

"_No. We are in __agreement_," Loki corrects. "_Where to?_"

I raise my eyebrows.

"_Did you not suggest that I stay with you?_"

I nod.

"_Then: where to?_"

I consider for a moment. Loki being in my company, I could not return to the Avengers even if they were home. Likewise, my recent residence in England is not a wise choice.

"_Home_," I finally answer.

Loki looks at me in alarm, but the expression soon passes. The last time we spoke of home, it was defined as Asgard, so his momentary worry is explainable.

"_The problem is getting there without being seen. As I am sure you recall,_ t_he humans' computers are able to track you_."

He looks at me, unimpressed. Magical disguise and even transportation are possible. I know he can teleport himself—even I, if I allowed myself to use magic, can teleport—but traveling such a distance requires help. There are several types of devices using either technology, magic, or an amplification of one's own magic that would work.

I narrow my eyes. _"No magic."_

Now his eyes widen in shock. He gestures backward as if to indicate my spell.

"_That was a necessary risk. Adding any more atop it is too great a risk. No magic from you. No magic from me. We have to find a non-magical way to travel, and a non-magical way to do so without being seen by their computers." _ If such a thing is possible.

"_I hate computers_."

The statement is so unexpected that I laugh aloud.

"_Can they see us here?_" he asks when my laughter quiets, looking at the surrounding trees with an expression of annoyance.

"_Yes, but Rose will take care of it_," I assure him.

He does not ask who Rose is.

"_Where __is__… home?_"

"_Not far from our old playground. Which, if traveling human-style, is quite a journey, and very well monitored._"

"_Then let us not travel human-style_."

I stare at him blankly.

He holds out his arm, his hand loosely fisted and bent downward, displaying his wrist. A wide black band curves around his arm, just above the wrist bone.

"_What is that?_"

"_A transporter._"

I hope it is not magical, but even if it is it will, under the circumstances, still be better than using human methods. "_Where did you get it?_"

He shakes his head. He is not going to answer my question. "_You said it is near where we used to come to Midgard? Can you be more precise? Give me the location closest to your home that you know I have visited._"

I look at him with eyebrows knitted but think of an answer instead of inquiring as to the reasons.

Many things have changed since we visited Midgard together. I have to be sure of the location, that he visited it with me, and that it is relatively close to my home. After a few minutes, I settle on a place.

"_I have thought of one._"

He nods. "_Tell me. Help me remember it. This transporter does not work by coordinates, but by the wearer's experience. It can take me anywhere on the planet I have been before, so long as I can remember it clearly enough_."

"_But things have changed—_"

He interrupts with a wave of his hand. "_So I have noticed. But it seems to work despite the centuries of difference between memory and present time._"

While he calls to mind the location I specified, I pull out the StarkPhone and call Rose, the only one of my attendants who knows (or cares to know) how to use human technology. With succinctness, I indicate my location and what to do once she hacks Tony's system. Loki and my images are to be erased from video surveillance, our voices from audio surveillance, and my computer use erased from the computer history. Loki looks at me expectantly when I end the call, but I have one last thing to do. Erasing the information from the phone as best as I know how, I return it to the location I found it before returning to Loki.

When I am confident that he recalls the correct location, he asks me to place my hand on the device. Trying not to show my hesitation, I wrap my hand around it, ignoring the fact that doing so is also wrapping my hand around his wrist.

Closing my eyes in nervousness, I hear Loki mutter something. The air is pulled from my lungs in a sudden movement, and my body feels as if it is being pulled sharply to one side, but almost as soon as I comprehend the discomfort, it is gone.

Tentatively, I open one eye and then another.

We made it! I am in one piece, and so is Loki, and we are at our intended destination.

Loki looks around us with disguised interest.

Now I have to get us the rest of the way home. I do not want a hired car traveling to my estate, and—I disable the StarkPhone to avoid being tracked, a step I should have taken earlier—I cannot contact anyone at home.

I settle on using human transportation to a semi-popular tourist site. It is close enough to home to allow for nothing more a pleasant walk to bring us the remaining distance.

Loki is somewhat agitated by the on-foot portion of the journey, but I ignore him.

My estate is extensive, which I appreciate, but the manor house too large for my taste. The grounds include decorative gardens and both walking-stone and short-hedge mazes, vegetable gardens, a large orchard, and many paths through the woods and over the extensive, manicured lawns. I leave much of it to the wildflowers and tall grasses. Though I dislike the largeness of the house, even I must admit that it is exquisitely crafted in reddish stone with off-white trim. Inside, it is tastefully decorated, though I had as little to do with that as any other aspect of the appearance of my estate.

I push open the heavy, white-painted wooden door, one half of the double-door entrance, and gesture for Loki to follow.

Remembering my manners, and wishing to keep Loki in as good a mood as possible, I inquire, "_Would you like some food?_"

He shakes his head as I secure the door behind me.

"_Then, would you wait there_," I gesture toward the parlor off the grand entry hall.

Taking in his surrounding with now undisguised interest, Loki does not reply.

"_I need to arrange for your stay_," I continue.

Finally, Loki ventures in the designated direction. With him out of sight, I run to the narrow stairway at the back of the house that leads downstairs.

With the stair door closed behind me, I call "Girls!" as I descend into the basement.

The first level of the basement is not fully underground, with short windows at the tops of the walls allowing in natural light. Each of my attendants—for I refuse to call them servants and they will not let me call them friends—has a room or more here, with another floor below—a true basement—for extra storage and space for their activities.

When I open the door to the basement hall, five women of vastly varying appearance stand at attention before me.


	6. Ch 4: Security Threat or Houseguest?

%

_Without the Darkness There Is No Light_

by Riley Berg

%

Chapter Four

"Security Threat or Houseguest?"

"Rose," I address the first woman.

She has brunette hair with a touch of red that shows in the light. Lean, tall, and surprisingly strong, she serves as my sparring partner and head of security. Like the other residents of this house, she is not human. She is an elemental, a fire elemental to be exact. As such, she has a unique relationship with fire that allows her to wield it—an added bonus when she needs to fight.

"I apologize for burdening you, but I have brought a security risk into the house."

Rose looks at me in alarm, though the expression is not accompanied by surprise.

I sigh. There is no gentle way to inform them of my probably foolish actions.

"Loki has come to visit."

Rose's eyes widen slightly, though it seems a gesture more questioning than shocked. Naomi and Myrtle, who stand next in the line against the wall, exchange unreadable glances and half-smiles.

"I do not want to hear any titular other than…" I pause, thinking, "Master Loki," I decide upon. "You will not accept orders from him except for those I will outline to each of you. If you are uncertain, ask me. And, to be safe, I would like you each to report your interactions with him—even those that seem benign—to Rose, who will communicate with me."

I look at each of the girls. Rose readily accepts my command, but I have to glare at Naomi and Myrtle for a moment before they nod in submission, probably because of the title "Master;" they never were fond of referring to others as less than they are. Sometimes I wonder how I convinced them to call me "lady." Skye and Crystal, the next and last two in the line, assent emotionlessly.

"Rose, you will additionally help me keep an eye on him. He _is_ here willingly, but, as always, I do not know the full scope of his plans."

"I understand, my lady."

I turn to the next in line. "Naomi."

She is half-human, half-gnome. Standing at only one and a half meters tall, she appears even shorter next to the tall Rose. She is my housekeeper, cooking delicious meals from scratch, and keeping the house in order—with a little help from the magic-like power that she inherited from her gnome father.

"You will, of course, have to accommodate another mouth to feed. You may address any questions regarding Loki's tastes and eating habits directly to him. And prepare the Blue Room for him; I want him nearby so I can keep an eye on his mischief. Oh, and it will be three meals a day for me, starting tomorrow." Naomi looks at me in confusion; I do not usually eat so often. "You should go prepare his room now. Meet us in the entry hall when you are finished."

With a shallow curtsy and a quiet, "Yes, my lady," Naomi ventures up the stairs behind me.

"Myrtle."

Another half-human, Myrtle's mother was a dryad—a myrtle tree dryad; her father was rather lacking imagination in naming her. She is beautiful and she knows it. She loves fashion but still has a sense of style. Thus, she serves as my lady's maid, choosing my outfits, styling my hair, and trying to convince me to wear loathed cosmetics. She spends most of her time in the basement, designing and sewing my clothes, and attending to those that need repair.

"Master Loki may prefer to oversee his own wardrobe, but as we are treating him as an honored guest, you may offer your services to him. But no girlish chitchat," I finish. She has a tendency to speak too much.

Without waiting for a reply, I nod to Skye and Crystal. "Your duties should not be much affected, but I did want to want you aware of his presence." Skye and Crystal are my groundskeepers.

Skye is a nymph, and my spring, summer, and autumn groundskeeper. She always designs a beautiful garden and tenderly nourishes all the flora on my property. She has such a beautiful smile when caring for her beloved plants, especially when getting her hands dirty in the warm earth.

Crystal is the daughter of one of Gaea's four season-named daughters, Winter. She is mute, but a very good groundskeeper in the winter, when she maintains the walkways, carves beautiful ice sculptures, and builds impressive snow statues. I am sometimes envious of her gorgeous white hair.

"We best venture upstairs for introductions. Skye and Crystal, you two as well. Then you can all go about your day."

They follow me up the narrow basement stair and down the hall toward the large entry hall. It is roughly square, and open to the third floor, with dual staircases leading to the second and third floors, each spanned by balconies, everything edged with matching balustrades.

My attendants pause at the base of the stair where Naomi already waits for them, and I continue toward the parlor where I instructed Loki to wait. I do not know what to say.

Clearing my throat to catch his attention, I step into the room. He has made himself at home, with a book in hand as he sits on the window seat. I cannot contain a smile at the sight, though I wonder how any of my human books caught his attention.

"Naomi has readied your room, and the girls are outside awaiting introductions. I can give you a tour afterward if you would like."

He says nothing but answers me by placing the book on the bench and standing. He follows me into the entry hall and I introduce each of my attendants and their positions to him.

"Naomi, ready my room if you have yet to do so. The rest of you are dismissed."

A chorus of "Yes, my lady" commences their departures.

"_If you would not mind_," I address Loki, "_I would like to begin in the kitchen_."

I have not eaten since the small portion of food I took from Gaea's offerings, and the energy granted me by her potion has worn off. I am glad it is evening, so I have a suitable excuse for retiring to my room once I have shown Loki around.

I step down onto the marble floor of the kitchen. It is large and spotless. I do not bother announcing to Loki our location; he knows this is a kitchen. I wander to the fridge.

"_It is equipped in a modern human manner_," I explain. "_Naomi will probably inquire as to your tastes and habits, so if you wish her to feed you, you best answer her honestly. There is always something to eat, though, if you do not mind hours-old bread and, as the humans call it, leftovers_."

I open the refrigerator and find said leftovers, and pull a chunk from the loaf of bread on the counter that was probably baked this morning.

With a mouthful of bread, I place my chosen food in the microwave. I maintain my silence as the microwave softly hums.

"_The dining room is there_," I nod to a door across the kitchen as the microwave chimes its completion.

Pulling my now warm food from the contraption, I walk to the indicated door.

The dining room is dominated by a wide table, long enough to comfortably seat ten. Long buffet tables stand against two walls, with another wall being comprised almost entirely of a large multi-pane window with a view of one of the gardens. The heavy floor-to-ceiling curtains are drawn over it at the moment, though.

The fourth wall boasts a large arched entryway. It has no doors, but its width is equivalent to a double-door, and curtains that are presently tied to each side serve to provide privacy when desired.

I lead Loki out of the dining room and through the large living room, the rarely-used movie theater (that also serves as a computer or video game room, though I have never used it as such), the private gym, which I call a training room for his benefit, and my two-story library.

From the second story of the library, we exit into the main hall.

"_These are guest rooms_," I gesture. "_The door at the end of the hall leads to the lower story of my study or studio or office, whatever you want to call it_."

Leading him to said door, we walk up the stairs inside my book-lined study and reach the third floor. The upper story of my study has two doors, one to my bedchamber, and a second to the main hall. I chose the latter.

"_That_," I gesture to one of the three other doors in the square hall, "_will be your room_."

The door to the left leads also to my bedchambers and the last door is locked, the room not to be disturbed.

Leading him to his new rooms and ignoring the look of disgust that crosses his face at the blue décor, I show him the walk-in closet and extensive, human-style bathroom.

"_If you have any requests regarding breakfast, you best tell Naomi tonight. The bellpull system works_," I nod to a cord hanging by the fireplace. "_And Myrtle has been given permission to attend to your wardrobe if you so desire. If there is nothing else, I will retire for the evening_."

With a shake of his head, I am free to leave, and I waste no time in walking to my own rooms.

Placing the container that held my food on the floor outside my door for Naomi to retrieve later, I open my door and go directly to my bed.

%%%

I sleep dreamlessly and at length. The sun beats brightly on the back of my curtains by the time I pull out of my grogginess. With a groan, I realize I fell asleep in my—the—clothes. Usually, I would use Myrtle's absence as an excuse to dress myself, and to do so with no fashion and little style, but I am weak, tired, and sore. Reaching over to the bellpull that hangs by my bed, I summon her.

"My lady?" Myrtle is clearly surprised by my call.

"Would you tell Naomi I am ready for breakfast—or whatever meal it is. What time is it?" I ask without caring about the answer. "And then I will need your help getting ready."

Myrtle is a wonderful girl, but a horrible actress. Her shock is written clearly on her face. But she does as told and returns momentarily.

By the time she stands before me, having delivered my message to Naomi, I have managed to pull myself to the edge of the bed and let my legs hang down. I offer an arm, indicating my need for help undressing. With an eyebrow raised, she complies.

She gasps. "By the _gods_, what happened?"

I am too tired to comment or otherwise express my disbelief at her rare almost-cuss. (She seems innocent most of the time.)

Wearily, I look down. A cluster of bruises blossoms on my chest, spreading from the dagger wound. The wound itself manifests only as a short line. There are no stitches closing it, and no bandage covering it. I wonder for a moment it I should put something on it.

"I got into a fight," I dismiss.

Myrtle understands an implied order when she hears one and remains silent on the matter, though her eyes tell me that her curiosity and worry are far from extinguished. She does not refrain, however, from bullying me into caring for my wound. I manage to negotiate her from bruise ointment, stitches and a large, thick bandage down to a simple, if slightly larger than standard, adhesive bandage.

Once she manages to outfit me in a presentable but comfortable shirt and human-beloved jeans, she anxiously follows me to the dining room, where Naomi has laid out a plentiful breakfast. A glance at the clock tells me that it has passed one o'clock in the afternoon, but I do not care. I needed the rest.

Naomi enters as I sit down. Though I am intent on my food, in my peripheral vision I see her nod, presumably to Myrtle. A soft retreat of feet sounds, announcing Myrtle's departure.

Naomi seats herself at the end of the dining table. I look up in surprise and watch her calmly pour herself some tea using the accouterments from the tray I had not earlier noticed. Though I think of my attendants more as friends than servants, they have always carefully observed propriety. I have never seen one of them at the dining table. They eat at the kitchen table or in their basement "servant's" dining room.

I look down quickly before Naomi can notice my staring. Perhaps they are concerned about me because of my admittedly horrible-looking wound. But Myrtle had no time to disseminate that information. Maybe they are wary of Loki's presence and do not want to leave me unattended for fear of what he might do.

"Where's Loki?" I ask through a mouthful of food.

Naomi stares at me for a moment, overcoming the shock of my informal address and lack of table manners.

"I do not know, my lady."

I nod, swallowing. Rose will know. It is her job to know.

"Did he take breakfast?" I glance at the clock again. "Or lunch?"

I take another bite, still ravenous. Healing from a would-be fatal wound creates quite an appetite.

"No, my lady."

"Did you inquire as to, or did he provide, his food preferences?"

"No, my lady."

"Best do so. He's invited to dinner."

"Yes, my lady."

She does not rise.

"Now."

She looks up at me in surprise. "Yes, my lady." She hesitates, but obeys.

Finally alone, I slouch in my chair and breathe out a length sigh. My hunger not yet sated, I turn my mind to the breakfast before me and finish eating in the peace of solitude.

Naomi looks disappointed as she reenters the dining room just as I stand from my chair, my hunger finally satisfied. Realizing that her disappointment might be related to her now unusable excuse to stay by my side, I do not inquire as to her expression.

"Did you enjoy the meal, my lady?"

"It was beyond satisfactory, Naomi." I pause. "I know I said three meals a day, but considering how late breakfast was, I will only require dinner."

"Yes, my lady."

"Where is Rose?"

"I believe she is in the gym, my lady."

I nod and exit the dining room, heading toward the gymnasium at the back of the house. It includes several modern human exercise machines, various self-defense training articles, and a large open area. The latter, when bare, serves as a dance studio. When pads cover the mirrors and tatami mats cover the floor, it is a sparring ring for Rose and me.

To my surprise, I find not only Rose but Loki as well. While the former breathes in a controlled and focused manner on the exercise bike, the latter uses one of the dummies for target practice.

I lean against the door jamb. "It's a good thing Gaea gave me that one," I startle both Rose and Loki. Rose spares me no more than a glance. I let my eyes fall on Loki, who has paused in his practice to look at me. "A Midgardian one would not withstand Asgardian blades for long." I push myself off the door frame with my shoulder and immediately regret it.

A look of pain crosses my face. I know this because Loki raises an eyebrow at me. And I know how to speak Loki. Or read, as it were.

"Good morning, Ástriðr," he greets, instead of mentioning my pain (and despite the hand on the clock indicating afternoon). "I never knew you were capable of sleeping so late." He turns away, toward the dummy victim of his daggers.

I snort, which also hurts, though only a little. In my own home, I was not allowed to sleep late. On Asgard, Frigga had stationed Loki in my room at nights—the reasons for which I might address later—and I was so conscious of that fact that I could not sleep late, for fear of him being seen. He was not allowed to leave until I had awoken for the day, but his presence was also to remain a secret betwixt Frigga, Loki, and myself.

"Well, I was woken early."

He pauses in his dagger-throwing practice again and turns to me with a blank expression I judge to express confusion.

"Not today," I clarify. "When…" I do not know what to say without giving too much information to Rose, whom I am sure is listening to every word we say.

"Gaea woke you early," Loki states, ice edging his voice.

I narrow my eyes. "Don't take that tone." Loki raises an eyebrow (calling attention to my hypocrisy). I hide my own surprise at the tone _I_ took. "Gaea would not have woken me early if you had not run off without warning or explanation," I huff.

"I was not aware that I answered to Gaea," he replies evenly, turning back to his task.

"You do not," I say to his back. "But it must have occurred to you that she did not trust you. That your disappearance into her precious world would cause her concern."

"I thought nothing of the matter," he says, his back still turned to me as he throws another small dagger at the poor dummy.

I sigh. He is probably telling the truth. It rarely occurs to him to think of others, or to put himself in another's shoes, so to speak.

"It is still your fault," I grumble.

I notice Rose glance at me in surprise, but she quickly diverts her eyes and draws her face into a neutral expression. I ignore her.

"You will need to take extra care," Loki ignores my grumbling. "Sleep. Rest. Eat. Drink," he glances at Rose, who is currently not looking at us, before adding, 'Feed,' in my mind and then returning to his physical voice, "Spar, or whatever else you do these days, with caution, and not for a few days, at the least. You would have needed to be careful had you woken naturally, but early… you will need to be additionally cautious."

"Yes, mother."

He turns his head to glare at me.

Ignoring his annoyance, I inform him, "I expect you at dinner." I turn to leave, but first glance at Rose. "I will be in the library."

However painful it is to take orders from Loki, his words are not unwise, this time. I will ignore that little bit that he mouthed, but see to the others. I slept for eighteen hours and have had my fill of victuals. A nice rest in the library will do my body good, without letting my mind wander in agonizing boredom.

A book waits for me by one of the tall windows. I grab it and curl into the window-side chair, letting the daylight illuminate the pages as I immerse myself in the written adventure. Though the book is not short, I read quickly. I am almost finished when Loki interrupts me half an hour later.

"_May I enter?"_

I look up from my book agitated.

"_I did not want to enter your precious library without your permission."_

"_You were here yesterday, Loki."_

"_Under your guidance."_

"_I am not __you__, Loki,_" I sigh, turning my face to the window._ "You have present and continuing permission to make use of my library so long as you respect it and its contents. Though I doubt you will find anything to interest you; they are all Midgardian works_."

"_I think I can find something of interest to me, Ásta."_

The words were spoken so softly I would not have heard them if I did not have exceptional hearing.

It is one of those times when I do not want to know what Loki is thinking. I do not look back at him, but turn to my book, listening to his footsteps as he searches for a book of his own. It does not take him long. I believe that, rather than having found something of interest, he did not care to pay attention to his choice. In the three minute it takes to finish the novel, Loki has seated himself in the armchair across from me, using the same daylight spilling through the same window to read his chosen book by.

I look up to find him reading me instead of his chosen book. Ignoring him, I stand to find another book, or a pile of them.

The afternoon passes uneventfully in the library, though I notice Rose pause by the door occasionally. I read through several books. I do not know if Loki actually reads his chosen tomes, but he at least pretends to. Dinner is blessedly silent and luxuriously large. I eat almost as much as I did at breakfast. Loki does not comment on my ability to consume Thor-sized meals. Perhaps he expects it, knowing of my wound and my early awakening from the healing-sleep. I manage to stay awake a little longer than yesterday before falling into a deep sleep just as Myrtle finishes pulling off my jeans.

I wake at eleven o'clock. I sigh. It is better than one in the afternoon. This time, I am able to sit and stand with less trouble, and dress myself, though the effort pulls at my wound, causing me to wince in pain. I eat breakfast—this time eating a portion closer to normal—and in lieu of exercising as I might usually, take a walk around my grounds. Rose joins me. After lunch, I retire to my library again, piling books by my favored seat by the window. Loki does not join me today. But I call him to dinner again. This time, he tries to make conversation. I let him, though—or perhaps because—the topics are benign and insignificant.

My attendants still hover in my peripheral vision throughout the day, watching over my carefully. But now I know Myrtle has kept her silence. It is my odd behavior—sleeping not only nightly but for long hours and eating not only three meals a day, but large ones—that worries them.

I sit in the chair in the corner of my bedroom, reading yet another book, as I wait for my body to tire sufficiently. This time, Myrtle manages to get me into pajamas before I fall asleep—a t-shirt over a camisole and flannel pants. The grandfather clock distantly chimes nine as I drift to sleep.


	7. Chapter 5: In the Dark of the Night

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_Without the Darkness There Is No Light_

by Riley Berg

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Chapter Five

"In the Dark of the Night"

Gongs sound from the palace temple, their crashing reverberations echoing through the stone halls. The bell in the tower rings loud, hammering a slow dong-dong-dong into the open air and down into the once-sleeping palace. Warning horns call from the inner and outer walls.

We are under attack.

In a panic, I throw myself out of bed, slipping my hand beneath my pillow in search of the small sheathed dagger I keep there. Mar'kwa always scoffed at its size, but I always believed in being prepared. And sometimes things small go unnoticed when you need them to be. Slipping on a dressing gown, I shove the Asgardian dagger into one of the pockets and run barefoot from the room.

"_Your Highness!"_ a passing guard yells, recognizing me despite my inappropriate attire and the long braid hanging down my back—a style I have not worn publically in many seasons. _"We must get you to safety!"_

I shake my head. _"Get to your post,"_ I order.

Perplexed but not allowed to disobey, he runs down the hall. I follow a moment later, reaching out my mind, my Sight, to find Mother. Something is wrong, I can feel it. She feels so… dim.

Running into the Queen's chambers, I stop abruptly, staring in horror. My heart rate increases impossibly. My body feels numb as I take halting steps into the room. I feel as if my mind has abandoned me, incapable of thought, incapable of Sight, incapable of magic. I fall on my knees.

Before me lies my father, my beloved father, eyes open but unseeing, lying in a pool of dark blood on the stone floor. The sticky liquid, a blue so dark it appears black, is staining the rugs and splattered across several pieces of furniture and a tapestry.

He was _butchered_, my mind supplies. It is the only coherent thought I manage.

I try to yell for help, but no sound escapes my lips. My voice is gone. But what good would it do now? He is dead. There is no resurrecting him. I weep bitterly.

Mother…

Mother!

A cry passes my lips at the thought. My body regains its strength momentarily, taking me across the room without conscious thought.

Mother!

I choke at the sight that greets me, falling more than walking toward my queen. I place my tear-stained cheek against her chest. She still breathes, but weakly. I sob.

"_Ásta?"_

I jerk my head up at the sound of her voice, her rough, feeble voice.

"_Oh, my Ástriðr,"_ she smiles weakly. _"You must go."_

I look at her in horror, somehow more frightened by her words than the sight of my own dead father, or my mother now dying before me. More than the bloody, carrion-strewn battlefields produced in my honor. More than the men with glassy eyes, as if their spirits had died while their bodies still breathed, their hearts still beat. More than the change that came upon each of my friends as they entered and came home from battle, having killed for the first time. More than the insane chuckle that slipped past my best friend Loki's lips when he himself killed for the first time, in my defense, before my eyes. More than the infernal indifference in Travis's eyes even when we saved him from certain death. More than the long, dark, lonely eternity before me.

"_Heimdall will listen to you."_

I look at my mother in shock._ "Heimdall is pledged to the Asgardians."_

She chokes on her next words. I wipe the blood-streaked spittle from her face, my heart no longer heavy, but simply numb.

"_Heimdall will take you home."_

I look at her in confusion, stroking her hair in what I hope to be a calming manner. Her mind is muddled.

"_I __am__ home,"_ I whisper.

"_You cannot stay,"_ she chokes out, her voice pleading. _"It is not safe. You must go. You must run. Run. Run now!"_

My body obeys. My mind slips into necessary numbness as I take the servants' passage. Commotion sounds behind me. Someone entered Mother's chambers. I run faster. The narrow hall spills into the servants' quarters. I shove through the door. The rooms are empty. I sprint to the end of the hall, where a window is set in the top of the wall at the end of the passage. Drawing out the dagger Loki gifted me less than two seasons ago, I use the hilt to break the window. I do not escape without scratches, but they will heal soon. There are more important things to worry about. My life is in danger. That part of my mind which still functions screams this knowledge to me.

I run into the open courtyard. It is abandoned, but I do not have time to decide whether or not that is odd. With a sadness I have never before felt, I look to the sky.

"Heimdall," I whisper, knowing he sees me, knowing he hears me, even from half a universe away. "Heimdall, take me… take me home." I do not know what Mother meant by that, but I do not have to understand to obey.

A single tear wanders down my cheek as a flash of light illuminates the sky and a beam of brilliance descends instantaneously toward me. I watch in astonishment as color and then whiteness and then color again forms wondrous patterns around me, almost blinding against the blackness beyond. Before I can comprehend my surroundings, I am strewn on a cold, smooth floor. I feel the cool surface beneath me with wonder. I am alive. I stare at the dagger still clutched in one of my hands. Was it so short a time ago that I walked the halls of my palace, newly graduated from the royal university, with Loki by my side? Was it so short a time ago that he gave me this dagger, sadly informing me that he would have to return home? At the time, I thought the departure of a friend to be the greatest sadness in the universe.

"Your Majesty," comes a deep voice above me.

I look up into golden eyes. They are unfamiliar to me, but I know to whom they belong.

"Heimdall."

He smiles at me gently as the Bifrost whirls toward stillness around us. When it has ceased, he offers me a hand. I stare at it, unable to move. The weight of the night's events, the implications of his calling me Majesty… He has seen my mother die. I am now Queen. Queen of Darkness.

And darkness I quickly succumb to. Someone—presumably Heimdall—catches me before my head hits the hard floor. I struggle as if to stay above water. They shush me and I quiet. I feel the distinct sensation of being carried. I try to open my eyes, but I cannot. My body no longer responds, but in my mind, I thrash about in anger and sorrow and desperation. The horrifying blackness engulfs me and I fight harder, more desperately. If my panic, my uncertainty, my instincts, my pain is all I can use to fuel the fight, I will fight. I will not give in to the weight crushing my mind.

I jerk awake to the distantly familiar sensation of someone crawling onto the bed beside me. Panic consumes my mind and I try to fight my attacker.

"_Breathe_," he instructs quietly, pinning my arm down with measured calmness.

That only increases my hyperventilation.

I hear a heavy sigh—it must be heavy to hear it over the blood pounding in my ears and the volume of my own rapid breathing—and feel the bedcovers pull away from my back. I feel him slip underneath them behind me. A hand settles on my waist. A body presses against my back.

"_Breathe_." This time, he whispers in my ear. I would shiver, but I do not have enough control over my body at the moment.

Adjusting one arm to wrap around my waist and the other to wrap around my own arms that are bundled against my chest, he pulls me against him. As he intended, I feel his chest rise and fall slowly, pressing against my back with a calm, even tempo. Desperately, I focus on his breathing, knowing from experience that if I do, my own will eventually slow to match his.

How many years had it been since I had that nightmare? A hundred? Somehow, despite the century of rest, I feel like I have never been left so exhausted by it.

As my breathing slows, his grip loosens. The arm that was under me moves a little, serving as a pillow instead of resting uncomfortably under me. I note that he does not let go completely, but I do not have the energy to protest. I do not have the energy to move. I do not have the energy to stay awake. Pushing the fact that this will technically count as sleeping in his arms into a dark corner of my mind, I slip back into a likely fitful sleep.

I wake exhausted in mind and sore in body. My neck throbs from sleeping in an unaccustomed position and my body is sticky with sweat. I have not slept beside someone for centuries. It was too warm. I groan and roll toward the edge of the bed, not allowing my mind to wander to Loki's presence. I cannot handle that mess quite yet.

The bin stored under my bed long ago (or maybe it is a new one; it _was_ a long time ago) has been pulled out. Myrtle was here. I slowly lift my head, waiting for the nausea that accompanies my nightmares, but it does not come. Even more slowly, I pull myself into a seated position and let me legs dangle off the bed. When a few minutes pass without bile rising up my throat, I push the bin back under my bed with my toes. Maybe I will need it next century.

I groan. How unfortunate that Loki was here the one time I have that stupid nightmare! If I was not so exhausted, I would punch something. Or him. I would punch him. That sounds like fun.

I flop backward onto the bed and awkwardly punch Loki, still lying flat on my back and grinning, I am sure, like I am not quite sane. He opens only one eye but manages an effective glare nevertheless.

I straighten my expression.

"_That's what you get for this,"_ I gesture around me, trying to chastise him sternly and failing.

He looks down at the place where my fist made contact as if he only just now noticed I touched him. I sigh. My mind is not quite back to normal.

"_Stage Two: Insanity."_

Loki snorts. He knows what I am talking about. Once the exhaustion of my nightmare wears off enough to allow me thought, my mind goes to hidden realms, trying not to cope with reality. Eventually, it will come back, but by that time I am usually rested, bathed, dressed, fed, and hopefully aired out (been for a walk), and can deal better with the remembered trauma.

"_Call Myrtle,"_ I nod to the bellpull. _"I need a bath."_

I try to sit back up. Not a good idea.

The sickening sensation of wetness pools on my skin around my wound. I bite back panic, but Loki detects my stress.

"_What is wrong, Ástriðr?"_ he asks, rare worry coloring his tone.

I bite back a snarky retort. My mind is still not back to normal. No need to agitate him unnecessarily just because I in my insanity am ungrateful for his supposed concern.

I choke. He pulls the bellpull and hurries over to me. My mind still foggy, I become preoccupied with the fact that he is no longer wearing his Asgardian half-armor, which he was so insistent upon wearing the last two days despite Myrtle's offers of a more diverse wardrobe. I suppose it would be uncomfortable to sleep in, though. Still, he looks so strange in the green tunic and loose black trousers. Myrtle, in a rare use of her power, appears at my bedside instantaneously, as if thinking about her called her to me.

"My lady!"

She makes no mention of Loki's presence as she gently lifts me to a sitting position, but also does not consider his presence as she pulls off my shirt. I am glad for the camisole beneath—an extra layer of protection for the bandage over my wound, and now an extra layer of protection for my modesty. She pulls the neckline down slightly to gently pull off the bandage.

She sighs in relief and I echo her, though I cannot see what she sees.

"It is not torn completely, my lady. Just a bit at the end. Not even measurable. Probably the thrashing about from your nightmare."

I nod. The sensation of wetness must have been exaggerated by my mind.

"But we'll need to do something about the bleeding, and the open wound, however small."

I grimace. There is nothing to be done. I shake my head.

"My lady," she complains.

Loki finally speaks. "I can heal it."

Myrtle turns to him in surprise as I vigorously shake my head. I will not allow Loki to heal me. I do not know what he did and did not do to help Gaea heal me even to this extent—so that my heart beats even if the other portions of my injury are not healed—but I have a strong, instinctual aversion to his continued so-called help.

"My lady? If Master Loki can—"

I shake my head again. This time, dizziness overcomes me enough that I slump into Loki.

"My lady," Myrtle exclaims in exasperation.

Loki does not wait for my permission. Taking advantage of my position he carefully presses two fingers against my collarbone. I feel energy flow downward, gathering around my wound several centimeters below.

He pushes me back by the shoulders and captures my eyes with his. I stare blankly at the anger, frustration, concern, and less readable emotions floating in them.

"Just enough to stop the bleeding," he explains through gritted teeth. "Just enough to close the wound. You can let your body heal itself if that is what you wish, but I will not let you go about bleeding."

I nod, defeated.

"Myrtle, draw Her Majesty a bath."

Myrtle stares at him for a startled moment before moving to obey. How dare she obey him! Even if I want a bath. Even if that is why I had Loki call her here.

I glare at him. "They are not allowed to call me that."

Loki raises an eyebrow. "_They_ did not."

"_You_ are not allowed to call me that."

"And, pray tell, why not?"

"Because I said so," I reply lamely, looking down.

But Loki accepts it. "Then what _am_ I to call you?"

I shrug and then regret it. Ouch. "What you always do."

Loki sighs. "Sometimes titles and their terms of address are called for, my lady."

I look up at his unexpected softness. His eyes seem to be focused on something far away.

Myrtle clears her throat and we both look up sharply. "Your bath is ready, my lady."

I nod. Loki rises, offering me his hand. Myrtle does so as well. Using them both to help myself stand, I stay still and silent for a moment before I am assured that I have my balance. Releasing Loki's hand, I silently dismiss him.

"I will inform Naomi," he says as he leaves the room.

"M—my lady?" Myrtle begins as she assists me in bathing.

I sigh. (There seems to be a lot of that happening lately.) "What is it, Myrtle?" I urge her in exasperated annoyance.

"Um… Well… In regards to Master Loki…"

I look sideways at her.

"I know you said not to obey him save when you had given specific permission, but… I'm so sorry, my lady! When I heard you cry out, it took a moment for me to realize what was happening." Her words come swiftly now. "It had been so long. I guess I forgot. I wasn't used to it anymore… By the time I got here, Master Loki was already… here. I was shocked of course," she seems to think she must add, "but he… he seemed to know what he was doing. And it seemed to be working. I didn't know what to do. I just… I just pulled the bucket out for you, should you need it, but then… then Master Loki gave me this… look. It was clearly a dismissal. And… and I obey, my lady. I obeyed."

She hangs her head and I look away, pulling in a deep breath. I must either put Myrtle's mind to rest or scold her.

"Myrtle," I begin softly. "It was not a situation I was prepared for, or that you could have imagined. You did the best you could without prior instruction. I forgive your technical disobedience to me."

"My lady, what am I to do, should the situation occur again?"

If my nightmares continue diminishing at the rate they have been, Loki will be long gone before the events of last night repeat. But I still must decide what is to be done should last night repeat itself sooner than expected. Contingency plans.

I sigh once again, thinking. My concern is not whether I should allow Loki or Myrtle to attend me in my nightmares, but whether Loki will obey if I tell him not to intervene. His orders to calm my nightmares came from Frigga long ago. My recurring nightmare was the reason Frigga stationed Loki in my rooms at nights. I scream terribly. Odin was intolerant. He told her to make sure I did not wake the entire palace. Frigga responded by asking Loki to watch over me when I slept. And when Frigga discovered that I was avoiding sleep, she sent Loki to my rooms every night to make sure I went to bed, though I did not need to sleep that often. Every time I slept, I had the nightmare. Apparently Loki's methods of calming me were effective, because Odin ceased his complaining, and no one else mentioned hearing screams at night. But I disliked waking up next to Loki, for he often fell asleep beside me after or while calming me. I was always afraid that he would be seen. Frigga wisely required it to remains secret, not even telling Odin her methods. Odin never inquired. Loki vanished from my room before anyone could see him, though I did have to push him into the closet a few times.

Do I want to go through that again? Of course not.

But I do not have to. This is my own home. I do not care if my attendants are aware of Loki's doings. In fact, I would prefer that, if I let him continue obeying Frigga, they _do_ know. Myrtle is already aware anyway.

So then: what do I want? I admit that Loki's methods are more effective, and … more comforting. Perhaps even so much better that they are worth the awkwardness of sharing a bed with him, however temporarily. And… and I secretly _want_ to sleep beside him. I do not know when my platonic affections turned to infatuation, but even I with all my stubbornness cannot deny that I wish he was more than my friend. Of course, in Loki's opinion, were are more like enemies with a peace treaty.

"Loki is… experienced in handling my nightmares. Perhaps even more experienced than you, for though I have spent more years on Earth now than I did on Asgard, my nightmares came much more frequently then. They were already starting to diminish when I came here." I look Myrtle in the eye as she assists me from the bath. "It seems the habit has not died with the centuries. Loki will likely respond in the same manner, should I have the nightmare again. You may allow him to do so. While he is here, your duties in regard to my nightmares are temporarily suspended. Loki will attend to me in that matter."

Myrtle nods, though her eyes express confusion rather than understanding. "Yes, my lady." She will obey, but she might also seek to satisfy her curiosity.

Not possessing the energy required to dress myself, I let Myrtle do so once again. Lowering myself into the chair in the corner of my room, I pick up the book I did not finish reading last night.

"My lady, will you not go down to breakfast?"

I look up at Myrtle, standing expectantly in the doorway.

"Loki arranged for it to be sent to me. But you can let Naomi know I am ready."

Myrtle nods, perplexed, and disappears, closing the door behind her.

A knock sounds on my door sooner than expected. Only a few seconds after Myrtle's departure, in fact. I tilt my head.

"Who is it?"

No reply comes. I roll my eyes.

"_Come in, Loki."_

The door opens and I note Loki, having dressed for the day in something other than his Asgardian half-armor, with a silver tray balanced on the fingertips of one hand. I raise an eyebrow, though not nearly so well as Loki would have. He stands patiently in his black button-down shirt and pressed trousers. Myrtle must have gotten to him after all.

"_What are you doing?"_

He does not acknowledge my question with an answer. Translation: It is obvious what he is doing; he is bringing me my breakfast.

"_Why__ are you doing it?"_

This draws his attention. He looks at me as he places the tray on my chair-side table.

"_You always ate in your room after such a night."_

I nod. _"But you were never the one to deliver it."_

"_I was not in a position to do so."_

I raise an eyebrow again. Whether or not in a position to do so, Loki would not stoop to do servants' work, or so I thought.

"_I wanted to talk to you."_

That makes more sense. I gesture for him to continue as I turn to my breakfast.

"_As I am sure you have noticed, your attendants however about you like bees to a flower."_

I almost roll my eyes at the analogy.

"_As I recall, you never cared to be treated in such a manner. I imagined that you would not let them do so normally, so I politely inquired as to their behavior."_

I look up, curious.

"_Is Rose named so because of the shade she turns when embarrassed?"_

I ignore the question. Loki, either sensing this or meaning the question to be rhetorical, continues.

"_She reluctantly admitted," _I wonder if he used his silver tongue on her, _"to me that she was concerned by your behavior. Sleeping nightly, eating thrice a day. I asked her why that should be so concerning."_

He looks at me now, holding my gaze so strongly that I cannot break it.

"_You sleep one day in one hundred at best, sometimes going a year without sleep," _he accuses. _"You eat once a day if they can convince you, but they cannot always."_

I sigh, finally breaking eye contact, and set down my food.

"_I do not need to sleep so often as others, and you know I do not like sleeping unnecessarily." _ I avoid the matter of food.

"_They told me your nightmares had subsided, so you had no reason to avoid sleep, especially not to the extent of waiting a __year__." _His tone of voice is clearly angry now. _ "I wondered why your body seemed so resistant to healing, and now I know. You were not taking care of yourself."_ He sighs. _"I should have known. I should have expected it."_

I scoff. How dare he treat me like a child! As if I am incapable of caring for myself…

But now I recall, _"You helped Gaea."_

It is his turn to scoff. _"__She__ helped __me__."_

I look at him, perplexed. All she needed to do was provide a safe place for me to rest while my body healed itself. I do not understand why she thought she needed Loki's help, but how can _she_ have helped _Loki_?

"_How long was I in the healing-sleep?"_

"_Just shy of two months,"_ Loki replies after a long pause.

I stare. When I noted the time of year, when I glanced at the date, I paid no attention to the numbered year. I assumed a little more than a year had passed. It seemed an appropriate amount of time to recover to such an extent.

Several things occur to me at once.

Loki healed me this morning. Not much, but enough to notice the difference. But Loki is not, or _was_ not, a healer. Both my mother and his, several of the Darkling sorcerers who favored healing and knew his interest in magic, and even a few Asgardian healers offered to teach him, but he was never interested. When had he learned to heal?

Gaea called him to help. Why did Gaea call him? Did she know of his new area of study? Certainly it was not because of… But I dismiss the thought. That type of healing requires a relationship. It would only work if _he_ was _my_ friend—if our friendship was mutual rather than one-sided. Even if I consider him my best friend, he tolerates me at best. He appreciated, I suppose, that I did not mock him as others did, that I perhaps understood his thoughts somewhat better than the others, but I do not think he ever considered me his friend.

Loki came. Why did Loki answer Gaea's call, even if he _was_ capable of healing? He broke his silence, shook of his supposed death, and risked discovery in coming to Terra.

But there must be an explanation. Gaea called him. He came. And he was able to heal me then as he was this morning.

"_Loki, when did you start studying healing?"_

He looks at me with eyebrows creased. _"I never cared to learn the art. You know that."_

My eyes grow wide. But that would mean—! I shake my head. It is not possible. Or so I thought. But I do not want to think. I do not want to know. A very dangerous line in the sand—a cliff, really—is being approached. I do not want to go too near it without first scouting the territory.

"_Never do that again,"_ I order.

I do not have to specific. He understands.

I think I see hurt ghost across his face, but it is gone before I can be sure.

He neither accepts nor rejects my command, but briskly leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. Feeling even worse now than I did after my nightmare, I nibble on the remains of breakfast, trying not to let my mind wander to the implications of my discoveries.


End file.
